

ROUND THE YEAR 

















































9 






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ROUND THE YEAR IN 
PUDDING LANE 


tb? ^>atalj an&tngton 


The Boy Who Lived in Pudding Lane 
The Great Adventure of Mrs. Santa Claus 
Round the Year in Pudding Lane 








The Town Crier was seen coming down Pudding Lane, 
ringing his bell, frontispiece. See page j. 












































ROUND THE YEAR 
IN PUDDING LANE 

BY 

SARAH ADDINGTON 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

GERTRUDE A. KAY 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1924 












Copyright, 192S, 1924, 
By Sarah Addington 

All rights reserved 
Published September, 1924 


Printed in the United States of America 


SEP 10 *24 

©C1A800774 

Mo | 


-2-H* 


CONTENTS 


I 

*2 

crx^> 


CHAPTER 

I 

When the Snow Man Sat by the Fire . 

PAGE 

1 

II 

The Valentine Mistress Mary Found . 

18 

III 

How Humpty Dumpty Went to the King’s 



Party. 

34 

IV 

Simple Simon Has His Day 

52 

V 

Mrs. Claus Has a Great Honor . 

67 

VI 

The Poodle That Didn’t Know English . 

81 

VII 

Bo-Peep Finds Out How a Dutch Uncle 



Talks ....... 

93 

VIII 

The Sand Man’s Scare .... 

110 

IX 

Why Taffy the Welshman Stole Meat 

124 

X 

The Crooked Man Gets a Brand-new Repu¬ 



tation . 

139 

XI 

Mother Goose Settles a Difficulty 

155 

XII 

Santa Claus Hangs Up His Stocking . 

187 


































ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Town Crier was seen coming down Pudding 
Lane, ringing his bell .... Frontispiece 


PAGE 

Everybody was happy, including Mrs. Claus who 

dozed by the fire.20 

No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But a 
bear that stood before her.43 

They were dancing around a Maypole, a beautiful, 
flower-covered Maypole.76 

On the same stagecoach from Dover came a present 
from the King of France to Mrs. Claus . . 81 

“ Look here,” he said to the black sheep. “ You’re 
responsible for all this.” . . . . .105 

What could Mrs. Blue do*? She could do nothing 
but climb the fence, skirts and all . . .111 

The next morning at nine o’clock the whole town 
started out for Honeysuckle Hill . . .129 

“ But it’s too far to walk before dark,” said Santa 
Claus. “ We live ’way off in Pudding Lane ” . 148 


I 


WHEN THE SNOW MAN SAT BY THE FIRE 

I T had been a poor year for snow men that 
winter in Pudding Lane. November had 
brought not one single flake of snow 
(though I don’t see what good one flake would 
have done, anyway). December had been al¬ 
most as bad. Even at Christmas there had been 
only the thinnest smattering of snow, which, 
like bread that has only a little sugar on it, is 
worse than none at all. 

But here it was January, a gray, moisty, misty 
day that certainly looked and felt like nothing 
else in the world but snow. So that it was no 
wonder the children of Pudding Lane kept roll¬ 
ing their eyes at the world outside as they were 
having their lessons that morning. 

“ One, two, buckle my shoe,” recited Santa to 
Mrs. Claus. The snow would surely come any 
minute now. “ Three, four, shut the door.” 
Would it be big dry flakes or little watery ones? 
Little watery ones were no earthly good, of 
course. “ Five, six, pick up sticks —” 

[ 1 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

“ A, B, C, tumble-down D,” chanted Judy to 
the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. Was 
that a flake of snow she saw through a button¬ 
hole of the Shoe there? No, only a bit of paper 
drifting by. “ E, F, and a pick-him-up G,” she 
continued. 

Even Simple Simon was having a lesson. 

“ Thirty days hath September/ 5 he began, but 
poor Simon never got any farther than that in 
the rhyme, for he never could remember that 
April came next. April ought not to follow right 
after September, even in a poem, he thought. 

So they went on, every one of them, for Old 
King Cole had given emphatic orders that les¬ 
sons were to be held at any cost, every single 
morning, in every single home in Pudding Lane. 
And then, right in the middle of everything, it 
began to come, the snow that all the children 
had been waiting for all the winter long. 

Jill saw it first, for Jill was the kind of girl 
that could see several things at once, so that, al¬ 
though it looked very much as if Jill had her 
eyes nailed down tight to her spelling book, she 
really was looking through the window out of 
the tail of her eye. Some people are like that, 
especially girls. 

But Jill saw the snow only half a second be- 

[ 2 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

fore the other children saw it. For the next 
thing the mothers of Pudding Lane knew, their 
pupils were all running to the windows and 
jumping up and down and shrieking with de¬ 
light. It began to look as if school were over 
for the day, willy-nilly, as Mrs. Claus said. She, 
for one, couldn’t manage five boys during the 
first snowstorm of the year. 

Well, sure enough, school was over for the 
day, for the next minute the Town Crier was 
seen coming down Pudding Lane, ringing his 
bell and shouting, “ The King says let the chil¬ 
dren out; the King says let the children out, the 
first snow of the year!” Seriously, now, was 
there ever such a good king as that merry Old 
Soul? Or such a wise one? Not many kings 
would understand that a snowstorm is more im¬ 
portant than lessons. 

You should have seen the Snow Man those 
children made! Such a fine figure of manhood 
as he was, with sturdy, stout legs and a pipe in 
his mouth (the candlestick maker wondered 
where in the world his pipe had disappeared-to!) 
and a snub nose such as snow men always, al¬ 
ways have. Why is it, do you suppose, that 
snow men never have handsome Roman noses 
like Mother Goose’s, or tip-tilted ones like Jill’s, 
[3] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

or long lean noses like the candlestick maker’s? 
Merely a family trait, I suppose. In fact, if I 
ever met a snow man with a long nose, I’d rather 
suspect him of not belonging to the real snow 
family, wouldn’t you? 

But this one was a true descendant of the 
inner circle of snow men. Little Boy Blue stuck 
on his ears. Jack and Jill made his arms — long 
arms they were, that fell from his shoulders in 
a most realistic manner. Simple Simon put Mr. 
Claus’s green carpet slippers at the bottom of 
the Snow Man’s legs. (And you should have 
seen Mr. Claus running around the house in his 
bare feet that night, poor man.) Simple Simon 
got the right shoe on the left leg, and the left 
shoe on the right leg, but that only made the 
Snow Man look funnier than ever, and Simon 
was indeed proud that he had done his job so 
cleverly. Yes, every child in Pudding Lane had 
a hand in that Snow Man, except Polly Flin¬ 
ders. 

And Polly, of course, would not come out. 
Not that she was not invited. Santa Claus, who 
was the most polite boy in Pudding Lane, made 
a special trip to the Flinderses’ to get her, for it 
was thought that Polly, being a newcomer to 
the village, might feel a little shy. But al- 
[4] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

though Polly liked Santa Claus very much and 
was really most anxious to play with the other 
children, and most anxious, too, to get ac¬ 
quainted with the Snow Man, still, on account 
of her toes, Polly had to refuse Santa’s invita¬ 
tion. So Santa ran back to his little friends and 
Polly, after waving them good-by, returned to 
her cinders. 

She did not stay by the fire long, however, 
for the shouts and laughter of the children rang 
out like chimes through Pudding Lane that day, 
and she could not keep herself from going to the 
window to watch them. For the truth about 
Polly Flinders was that, though she did choose 
to stay close by her fire rather than to play out¬ 
doors with the children, she really was a very 
lonely little girl. She got tired of herself and 
she got tired of her dolls and books. She even 
got tired of her cinders. So Polly really was not 
very happy by her fireside, after all. It was too 
bad about her toes, really. 

When the children saw Polly at the window 
on this day, they waved and laughed and beck¬ 
oned her to come out. Polly waved back and 
smiled, too, but still she could not bear the 
thought of the cold, so she shook her head sadly 
and presently they forgot all about her as they 

m 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 


went on playing. And finally the lonely little 
Polly went back to the fire again. 

It was dark and cold when the children of 
Pudding Lane at last left their Snow Man and 
went home. They had fought snow battles and 
built snow houses and dug snow tunnels. They 
had plowed up the fields of snow until it looked 
like some winter planting time. But the day 
closed at last and they had to go home to sup¬ 
per and to bed. 

Only Polly Flinders, as night came on, re¬ 
membered the poor Snow Man who was left 
there in the ruins alone on the cold winter night. 
She could hardly eat her supper for thinking 
about him, and she shivered closer to the fire, 
as she considered how cold it must be out there 
for the Snow Man, who himself was not a very 
warm fellow to begin with. 

So Polly thought about him all evening, and 
still she could not forget him when it came time 
for bed and her mother came in to take her up¬ 
stairs. Polly begged to stay up longer. 

“ But it’s very late,” objected her mother 

In the end, however, she went off to bed with¬ 
out Polly, shaking her head and saying to Mr. 
Flinders that she never did see such a girl for 
the cinders. 


[ 6 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

As Polly sat by the fire, she kept thinking of 
the Snow Man and kept on feeling so sorry for 
him that she even cried a little to herself, as 
the clock ticked and the cinders clinked in the 
grate. She went to the window to look out at 
him. There he stood in the cold light of a frosty 
moon, alone, neglected, freezing. Oh, dear, 
how unhappy he looked. He wasn’t funny any 
more, but pitiable and pathetic, like any other 
outcast. 

Polly stood by the window a long time, 
watching him tearfully. Then through her tears, 
she saw, or thought she saw, the Snow Man 
move. He seemed to raise his arms to her in a 
gesture of pleading. The Snow Man was mo¬ 
tioning to her to come to him! The Snow Man 
wanted her help! 

Quick as a flash Polly turned from the win¬ 
dow and rushed to the door. Quick as a wink 
she had flung the door open and was running 
down the path to Pudding Lane and across the 
lane to the Snow Man. She quite forgot her 
toes, did Polly. She forgot the cold and the 
snow. She forgot everything except that the 
poor Snow Man needed somebody to help him 
and that she was the somebody. When she got 
to the Snow Man, she spoke to him breathlessly. 
[ 7 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

“ Eve come to take you in to the fire,” she 
told him. “ I know how wretched it is to be cold 
and lonely. I suffer from the cold myself, Mr. 
Snow Man, and I’m rather lonely too.” 

The Snow Man did not reply, but stood there 
immovable, his long arms hanging listlessly, his 
pipe askew, his hat set rakishly on one ear. 
Polly surveyed him and spoke again. 

“Can you walk?” she asked him. He was 
still silent. 

Polly touched him softly. He was hard and 
as solid as rock. She never would be able to 
budge him. She put her arms around him. 
Ooooh, how cold he was! She really must hurry 
and get him in to the fire, or he would be frozen 
past all help. 

What should she do? He was freezing, freez¬ 
ing! She must not leave him there another min¬ 
ute. But he was too big to carry and too stiff to 
walk. Polly looked around desperately. There 
was only that icy moon above and the fields of 
snow about her and the still cold of night. No 
help was in sight. Not a candle shone out from 
a single window. Not a soul was awake in that 
respectable little village. Alas, Polly began to 
think that her visit to the Snow Man was all in 
vain, that she could not rescue him, after all. 

[ 8 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

And then, just as she was despairing of her 
mission, she spied Jack Horner’s little red sled 
near one of the snow forts. It was the very 
thing! She would take the Snow Man home on 
that sled. She would take him to her own fire 
and there warm him until he was quite com¬ 
fortable. 

Hastily she began to drag the sled over to 
the Snow Man. Quickly she commenced the 
delicate operation of putting the Snow Man on 
the sled. And it was a delicate operation, 
indeed. For the Snow Man’s joints, if he ever 
had any, were as stiff as sticks, and the Snow 
Man’s muscles, if he had muscles, were as use¬ 
less as a doll’s. He was very heavy and hard to 
move, as Polly put her arms around him and 
tried it. Moreover, the Snow Man, although so 
frozen and hard, had a tendency to break at 
places. Polly was very, very careful as she 
tugged and pulled at him, but there! his left 
arm snapped off clear up to the shoulder, and — 
oh, dear, there went his right thumb, plunged 
into the snow at his feet. 

“ Excuse me, excuse me,” whispered Polly to 
the Snow Man in distress. “ I didn’t mean to, 
really.” 

But it did not seem to hurt the Snow Man 

[ 9 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

very much to lose an arm and a thumb, for he 
did not bat an eyelash, though maybe that was 
because he didn’t have an eyelash to bat. 

At last Polly had him on the sled, lying on 
his back, feet foremost, pipe in the air. Only 
the green carpet slippers were left behind in the 
snow, for somehow they wouldn’t stick. At last, 
after much hard pulling, Polly had the sled with 
the Snow Man right in front of her very door. 
And at last, after more tugging and working, 
she had him standing upright in front of her own 
warm cinders, which she now poked up into a 
fine bright blaze again. Then she smiled radi¬ 
antly at the Snow Man. 

“ Now you’ll be all right,” she assured him. 
“ You’ll get all warm and happy again, Mr. 
Snow Man.” 

But, my goodness, was the Snow Man crying? 
It certainly looked like it. Those were surely 
drops of water on his face. It looked, too, as if 
he needed a handkerchief. Polly hastily got out 
hers and applied it to the Snow Man’s nose. 

“ You ought to learn to use your handker¬ 
chief yourself,” she told him rather severely. 
“ I learned to use mine when I was a very little 
girl. But don’t cry. Oh, don’t cry so hard! ” 

By this time the tears were streaming down 

[ 10 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

the Snow Man’s face like rain. In fact, he 
hardly had a face any more; the snub nose had 
vanished almost completely; his eyes had cried 
themselves out; his ears were just little nubs 
now and were fast becoming even smaller nubs. 
More than that, the Snow Man’s arms and 
shoulders seemed to be raining tears too, and 
from his feet and body ran rivers of water. 

Oh, dear, how frightened Polly was! 

“Please don’t cry all over like that!” she 
begged him. “ Oh, please don’t! ” 

But the water continued to flow from every 
pore of the Snow Man’s body. 

“ Perhaps,” thought Polly, “ it’s just perspira¬ 
tion. But if it is, it’s a pretty bad case of it.” 

Whatever the malady, it was fast reducing 
the unfortunate Snow Man into a mere pillar of 
slush and streaming water. His pipe fell away 
from his face and dropped to the floor with a 
dismal sound. His poor old hat fell off too. 
His legs were rapidly giving way. And as Polly 
watched the Snow Man approaching his sad end, 
she cried heart-brokenly. Such a beautiful Snow 
Man as he had been! How she had worked to 
help him out of his difficulty! And now he was 
going, going, going. He would soon be gone. 
He was gone. She looked at the floor where a 
[ 11 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

pond of water lay, an old black pipe floating 
desolately around in it. It was the saddest sight 
that Polly had ever seen. 

She cried until her mother, hearing her from 
upstairs, came down to her. 

“ Why,” began Mrs. Flinders, “ what in the 
world —” 

Polly sobbed. 

“What was it?” her mother asked again. 

Polly choked as she tried to answer. 

“ The Snow Man —” she began, then sobbed 
aloud again. 

Then Mrs. Flinders, seeing the water, under¬ 
stood. 

“ Oh, that’s too bad,” she said sympathet¬ 
ically. Then, “ But didn’t you know he would 
melt?” she asked. 

It seemed unbelievable that a child of hers 
would make such a foolish mistake. 

“ I forgot,” confessed Polly. “ It was silly 
of me, but I honestly forgot. I was so anx¬ 
ious —” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Flinders, “it’s too bad. 
But come, let us mop up the Snow Man before 
he spreads all over the house.” 

So Mrs. Flinders in her nightcap and Polly, 
sniffling loudly, mopped up the Snow Man, who 
[ 12 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

an hour before had been a beautiful creature 
and was now mere dirty water. Polly was in¬ 
deed very sad about the whole affair, and more 
than that she was ashamed, for she realized now 
how silly she had been and she dreaded what 
the children of Pudding Lane would say the 
next day. 

But to Polly’s everlasting surprise, the chil¬ 
dren of Pudding Lane, instead of being angry 
with her, instead of laughing at her, were most 
sympathetic, when she told them what she had 
done. 

“ I think it was very nice of you to want to 
be kind to the poor Snow Man,” said Jill. 

“ And of course you forgot he was made of 
snow,” put in Miss Muffett. “ For he was such 
a friendly fellow.” 

At this Polly began to sniffle. 

“ There, there! ” Jumbo patted her shoulder. 
(You remember Jumbo, don’t you, the oldest 
son of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe?) 
“ We’ll build another Snow Man,” he said. 
“ And we’ll wrap this Snow Man up in a blanket 
to-night so he won’t get cold.” 

So the children began to build another Snow 
Man, and even Polly, whose toes were warmly 
done up in leggings and overshoes, stayed out 
[ 13 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 


to help them. For Polly felt responsible for the 
damage she had done, and she felt grateful, too, 
to the children for their kindly attitude toward 
her silly mistake. And so, although it was bit¬ 
ter cold, and she did mind it terribly, she worked 
on and on until finally the Snow Man was fin¬ 
ished. But oh, how miserable she was, and how 
glad she was when the Snow Man stood there 
complete, and she was free to return to her cin¬ 
ders. Yet, as she started to say good-by, her 
heart sank a little. She would be lonely again 
when she went back into the house by herself. 
If her toes only did not trouble her so much! 

The children were astonished when she told 
them she was going indoors. 

“ Why, Polly, we thought you liked us now , 55 
cried Judy. 

“ We thought you were having a good time 
with us , 55 said Tom, Tom, the piper’s son. 

Poor Polly shook her head. “ I do like you , 55 
she protested. It was dreadful to have such toes 
as she had, but she couldn’t help it. 

“ But you don’t like to play out here with 
us,” said Little Boy Blue. 

“ No,” confessed Polly in a small ashamed 
voice. “ You can’t enjoy things when your toes 
ache, can you? ” 


[ 14 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

“ I suppose not / 5 Boy Blue answered politely, 
though his toes never had ached. 

But Jumbo went up to Polly and took her 
arm. 

“ Then I think it was very brave of you to 
go out to get the Snow Man last night/’ he said. 
“ And it was brave of you to stay out here to¬ 
day and help us make a new one, when your 
toes ached all the time.” 

He expected the rest of the children to say, 
“ Yes, indeed, it was,” but somehow they did 
not say it, nor did they say anything, not being 
used to pretty speeches. But they thought it, 
anyway, and they looked it, every one of them 
smiling at Polly in the friendliest fashion pos¬ 
sible, so that Polly was a little bit comforted. 

Her real comfort, however, came later from 
Jumbo, as he sat before her cherished cinders 
with her. He looked at her pretty little toes, 
which were shiny patent leather with silver 
buckles, and smiled. 

“ Judy has big square brown shoes,” he said. 
“ And Jill has copper toes on her boots.” 

Polly looked at him gratefully. 

“And I rather like the cinders myself,” he 
went on. “ Do you see that little dwarf in 
there with the hood over his head? ” 

[ 1 5 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 


Polly looked deep into the fire. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said. “ Isn’t he funny? And 
do you see that princess with the long flames of 
hair? ” 

“ Red hair,” Jumbo grinned. He looked at 
Polly’s fair curls. “ I like yellow better my¬ 
self.” 

Polly sighed. Perhaps she wasn’t quite hope¬ 
less, after all, in spite of her terrible affliction. 
Then a coal fell in the grate with a soft cluck 
of a noise. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed excitedly. “The 
dwarf got thumped. Who did it, did you see ? ” 

“ I didn’t see a thing,” replied Jumbo, “ so 
it must have been a fairy. And there, the Prin¬ 
cess is disappearing.” 

“ Going home to the Prince, I guess,” mur¬ 
mured Polly contentedly. 

“Yes.” Jumbo nodded. “Wow! But that 
fairy came just in time. In another minute the 
dwarf would have had her.” 

And that was the way that Polly Flinders had 
her one and only experience with a Snow Man, a 
rather unhappy experience it was too. That 
was the way the children of Pudding Lane found 
out what a courageous girl Polly was. And that 
was the way Jumbo became Polly’s daily play- 
[ 16 ] 


WHEN SNOW MAN SAT BY FIRE 

mate, so that she was never lonely by her cin¬ 
ders any more, but was both happy and warm 
thereafter. For Jumbo liked the fire, too, espe¬ 
cially when he and Polly sat before it spinning 
fairy tales, as they did on that first day. 


[ 17 ] 


II 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

I T was past eight o’clock on that St. Valen¬ 
tine’s Eve, and yet from every window in 
Pudding Lane shone forth the yellow light 
of a candle, a phenomenon which made all the 
clocks in the town wonder whether they hadn’t 
skipped an hour somewhere or other. For every 
timepiece in the village, from Mrs. Flinders’ fine 
old grandfather’s clock to Mrs. Dumpty’s pert 
little cuckoo, had good reason to know that one 
of old King Cole’s strictest rules was, “ Early 
to Bed and Early to Rise and yet here it was 
eight o’clock and nobody abed yet. Queer, 
thought the cuckoo, as he stepped smartly out 
of his box and cuckoo’ed eight times with a sig¬ 
nificant look at Humpty Dumpty. Odd, 
thought the grandfather’s clock, as he rumbled 
his eight strokes in Polly Flinders’ ear. 

Silly clocks, they had forgotten what night it 
was, or they never would have been so mysti¬ 
fied. For we know what was going on that 
[ 18 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

night in Pudding Lane, don’t we? We do it 
ourselves on St. Valentine’s Eve. So we can 
just see Boy Blue addressing an envelope to 
Judy, The Shoe, Pudding Lane, and another to 
Bessie, The Candlestick-Maker’s, Pudding Lane. 
And we can see Jill writing a verse to Jack: 

“Jack, Jack, the funny fellow, 

Got bruised black and got bruised yellow, 
When he came tumbling down the hill, 

With his loving friend, whose name is Jill.” 

Yes, they were all making Valentines that 
night. The children of the Old Woman had 
the Shoe cluttered up with paper and ribbon 
and paints. Simple Simon was busy copying a 
verse for Mistress Mary. It was hardly a deli¬ 
cate sentiment, reading as it did: 

“ Hum, hum, Harry, 

If I weren’t engaged, I should never marry.” 

But it was the only poem Simple Simon knew. 
Besides, it is doubtful whether Mistress Mary 
would be able to read it, anyway, for Simple 
Simon’s handwriting, as you know, was highly 
individual. 


[ 19 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

At the Clauses’, Santa and the two batches of 
twins were busy making Valentines. Santa was 
good at cutting and pasting, and Matthew, 
Mark, Luke and John were good at getting in his 
way and cluttering things up, so everybody was 
happy, including Mrs. Claus, who dozed by the 
fire, Mr. Claus, who was reading the Banbury 
Cross Weekly over his spectacles, and Misery, 
the cat, who sat solemnly watching them all. 

Indeed, everybody in Pudding Lane was busy 
making Valentines, except — guess who — 
Cross-Patch. You know Cross-Patch, that un¬ 
pleasant old woman who lived down at the end 
of Pudding Lane. Of course, Cross-Patch was 
not making Valentines. She didn’t believe in 
such foolishness! 

Yet somebody was making a Valentine for 
her, and that person was — you’ll never believe 
it, but it’s true — the candlestick-maker. Now 
although you have known the candlestick-maker 
quite intimately, would you ever have guessed 
that he Nursed a Secret Passion for Cross- 
Patch? Of course you wouldn’t. But that’s 
the sort of thing that comes out on St. Valen¬ 
tine’s Day. He may seem like a queer kind of 
lover, the toothless, bent-over old man, yet he 
was an earnest one, nevertheless, and he cackled 
[ 20 ] 



Everybody was happy , including Mrs. Claus who 
dozed by the fire. Page 20. 

































THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 


gleefully as he pasted a yellow paper rose on a 
pink paper heart and wrote: 

u Needles and pins, needles and pins, 

When a man marries his trouble begins.” 

When he tried to say this verse, the candle- 
stick-maker always said, “ Peedles and nins, pee- 
dles and nins ”, but it seemed to go all right with 
a pencil. However, it did not sound very lov¬ 
ing, he thought, after he had written it, so he 
added a little verse like this: 

“ P.S. But when a man’s married 
His wife is his own, 

And when a man’s single 
He’s living alone.” 

It may not seem very clear to us, but the can¬ 
dlestick-maker was charmed with it, and said to 
himself he could be a poet as well as anybody 
else if he’d just take the time to it. And then, 
with one last delighted cackle, he called Jack, 
his nephew, and bade him be nimble and be 
quick about delivering that Valentine to Cross- 
Patch. Jack hastily jumped over the candle¬ 
stick as directed and ran down Pudding Lane 
with the pink paper heart in his hand. 

[ 21 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

Jack had gone but a few steps when he heard 
a little squeaking noise which sounded like — 
well, it sounded to Jack like a mouse with a cold 
in its nose. He stopped to listen. Yes, there it 
was, a choked little squeak of a noise. Then, to 
Jack’s surprise, up started somebody from be¬ 
hind the winter hedge near by. It was Mistress 
Mary, Quite Contrary, and it was she who was 
making the noise. Mistress Mary was cry¬ 
ing. 

Of course, she pretended she wasn’t. When 
she saw Jack, she giggled in a silly little desper¬ 
ate way to cover up her sobs, the way girls often 
do when they’re caught in tears. 

“ Hello,” said Jack. He was glad she had 
stopped crying. 

“ Hello,” said Mistress Mary gayly, quite as 
if she had never shed a tear in her life. “ Where 
are you going? ” 

“ Taking a Valentine,” began Jack, when 
Mistress Mary unexpectedly began to cry again 
in that little squealing way. Jack, much dis¬ 
turbed, asked Mistress Mary what was the mat¬ 
ter. Whereupon, the poor girl, still weeping, 
explained the cause of her woe. She was crying, 
she said, because she had no Valentine for Santa 
Claus, of whom she was so very fond. 

[ 22 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

“ But why haven’t you a Valentine? ” asked 
Jack. 

“Just because I was so contrary, I guess,” 
admitted Mistress Mary. “ My mother told me 
to get one ready, but I didn’t want to then — 
and now it’s too late. Oh, dear, it’s often very 
uncomfortable to be contrary, Jack.” 

“ It must be,” thought Jack to himself. But 
to Mistress Mary he said, “ Well, what are you 
going to do about it? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Mistress Mary 
mournfully. “ I’m afraid there’s nothing to do 
now. And, oh, Santa Claus will think I don’t 
love him. And I love him better than anybody 
else in Pudding Lane.” 

“ Why don’t you send Santa Claus a flower 
from your garden, Mistress Mary?” Jack sug¬ 
gested. “ Flowers make fine Valentines, you 
know.” 

Mistress Mary shook her head sorrowfully. 

“ Alas,” she said, “ my crocuses are contrary, 
too, Jack. They ought to be out now, but some¬ 
how they just won’t bloom.” 

“I see,” said Jack gravely. Truly this was 
pretty bad, he thought to himself, that a girl 
should set such an unhappy example to the very 
flowers in her garden. 

[ 23 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 


Then he thought of Mother Goose, who al¬ 
ways knew how to get people out of trouble. 

“ Let’s ask Mother Goose what to do,” he said 
to Mistress Mary. 

“ But Mother Goose is not here.” 

“ Yes, she is,” Jack told her. “ She’s spend¬ 
ing the week-end with old King Cole. Let’s run 
right up to the palace and ask her.” 

“Oh!” cried Mistress Mary, “that’s the 
very thing.” For once in her life the contrary 
girl agreed with somebody, so the two children 
ran off hand in hand toward the palace of Old 
King Cole. 

Mistress Mary was not the only person in 
Pudding Lane that night who was in trouble. 
Meanwhile, something had happened at the 
Clauses’. It happened so quickly too. The chil¬ 
dren had all gone to bed and Santa Claus and 
his mother were sitting up addressing the last of 
the Valentines and Misery was watching them. 
Then the next minute, while they were still bus¬ 
ily scratching away with their pens, Misery 
wasn't watching them. 

“Where’s that cat?” asked Mrs. Claus, as 
she looked up. She always called Misery “ that 
cat ” and she always pretended that she did not 
like him a bit, yet it was Mrs. Claus who had 
[ 24 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

given Misery so much cream when he was a kit¬ 
ten that it made him fearfully sick, and it was 
Mrs. Claus who now had to be watched lest she 
give him more meat and gravy than was good 
for his digestion. 

So now she said, “ Where’s that cat? ” in a 
tone of great asperity, and she frowned blackly 
at the place by the stove where Misery had been 
but a moment before. 

“ Perhaps he’s gone to bed,” said Santa Claus, 
as he carefully drew a great flourish under 
Humpty-Dumpty’s name. 

Mrs. Claus got up and went over to the box 
where Misery slept. 

“ Not here,” she reported, after rummaging 
around in it. “ Where is that cat? ” 

She looked under the stove and in her work- 
basket and behind the baby’s cradle. No Mis¬ 
ery! She went into Mr. Claus’s bedroom and 
looked in the drawer where he kept his best blue 
shirt. No Misery! She finally went out into 
the woodshed and prowled around there in the 
dark, calling for Misery. No green eyes ap¬ 
peared. No purring black shape came to rub 
against her feet. By this time Mrs. Claus was 
really alarmed. She flew back to the kitchen 
and Santa. 


[ 25 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

“ He’s gone! ” she told her little boy. 

“ Misery? 55 Santa asked, staring. 

“ Misery himself,” answered Mrs. Claus. 

Santa jumped to his feet and ran around the 
room, calling the cat. He ran all over the whole 
house, looking for Misery. No cat was to be 
found, but the twins and Mr. Claus and even 
the baby woke up at his racket, and they set up 
a horrible din at the news of Misery’s departure. 
The four boys howled with grief; the baby 
screamed to keep them company; Mr. Claus kept 
shouting, “ Great snakes, great snakes, great 
snakes,” and, oh, dear, such a time as there was 
in the Claus household at that late hour on St. 
Valentine’s Eve. 

Of course, the Clauses kept right on looking 
for the cat. Mr. Claus, good soul, even went 
outdoors in his bare feet (he never had got his 
green slippers back since the time of the first 
Snow Man that year). He went out into the 
yard, calling the cat so loudly that if the crea¬ 
ture had been within ear-shot, he would have 
been frightened away by the noise. He went 
into the shop with a candle and poked around 
in the shelves and drawers there. (They had 
found Misery sleeping sweetly there in a nest of 
buns one time.) But although they all hunted 
[ 26 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

high and low for that cat, it soon became appar¬ 
ent that Misery was not to be found. 

It was a sad and sober company that gathered 
around the kitchen stove when the search had 
been abandoned. 

“ He’s gone,” spoke Mr. Claus in a hollow 
tone. Mr. Claus looked rather peculiar in his 
nightcap and overcoat and bare feet, but nobody 
noticed that. 

The twins howled again. Santa Claus 
blinked. Mrs. Claus was seen to rub her eyes 
impatiently. 

“ I knew that cat would get us into some kind 
of a bother,” she said. 

“ And the mice,” said Mr. Claus. “ I’m 
afraid that when the cat’s away, the mice will 
play.” 

“ Of course they will,” spoke up Mrs. Claus 
sharply. “ Anybody knows that.” Then Mrs. 
Claus looked at the clock and jumped energet¬ 
ically out of her chair. 

“ Mercy on us, Mr. Claus,” she exclaimed. 
“ Here it is after nine! What can we be think¬ 
ing of to let the children stay up like this? ” 

With which she gathered her six children up 
and packed them all off to bed. 

But if you think Santa Claus could go to sleep 
[ 27 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

that night, well, you just never were the owner 
of a runaway cat. For Santa could think of 
nothing but Misery as he lay in bed. He could 
see nothing but Misery’s beautiful green eyes 
and swaying tail. He could hear nothing but 
Misery’s purr, “ the bee buzzing inside him,” 
as he called it. The Valentines were forgotten, 
all the fun of the next day was forgotten, 
as Santa mourned his lost Misery that night. 

But presently he heard a slight noise outside 
the house. It sounded as if it were right there 
by his window. He thought he heard a whisper, 
then a tiptoe, then a little hushed-up laugh. For 
a moment, he was afraid. It might be Taffy, for 
Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, and 
came around at night quite often to steal a round 
of beef. Then he jeered at himself for being a 
scaredy-cat and climbed bravely out of bed. He 
looked out of the window and saw there—what 
do you think? Four hands, two green eyes, and 
a curly head. It was Jack and Mistress Mary 
with Misery in their hands! 

“Hey!” screamed Santa Claus excitedly. 

Mistress Mary laughed and Jack called out 
softly “Hello!” 

“Hey!” screamed Santa Claus again. He 
reached out his hands and took Misery in them. 

[ 28 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 


Oh, how nice and warm Misery felt to him. And 
was the bee buzzing inside him? Santa Claus 
put his ear down to the silky black body. Yes, 
there it was. Misery was happy too, glad to get 
home again. 

Then the rest of the Clauses came rushing in. 
A boy can’t shout “ Hey! ” in the middle of the 
night, as Santa Claus had done, without waking 
folks up, you know. When they saw the cat, 
they cried out too. And when they looked out 
of the window and saw Mistress Mary and Jack 
standing there laughing, they cried out again. 
At least, Mrs. Claus did. 

“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “Where 
did you children come from? ” 

“ From old King Cole’s palace,” they told her. 

“ And what are you doing here? ” she asked 
them. 

“ We brought Misery back,” they explained. 

“ Name of goodness,” was all Mrs. Claus 
could say. 

Then Jack and Mistress Mary went around to 
the front door, came into the parlor, and the 
Clauses all gathered around them to hear the 
story of the discovery. 

“ Well, there isn’t much of a story,” said Mis¬ 
tress Mary. “ Jack and I just went up to the 
[ 29 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 


palace to see Mother Goose a minute. We 
wanted to ask her — something/" She looked 
warningly at Jack. “ And when we got there, 
we found them having a party in the throne 
room. The King and Mother Goose were danc¬ 
ing a polka, the fiddlers three were playing their 
fiddles, and the Queen of Hearts, well, the 
Queen was asleep, but her ladies in waiting 
weren’t, for they were playing games with the 
King’s Men — oh, it was quite a party! ” 

“ It must have been,” said Mrs. Claus. She 
wondered how often the King indulged in such 
goings-on while his people were asleep in their 
beds. 

“ But the cat,” prompted Santa. “ Where 
did you find the cat? ” 

“ Why, right there,” said Mistress Mary. 
“ Right there.” 

“ In the King’s palace?” asked Mrs. Claus 
incredulously. “ Our Misery up at King 
Cole’s?” 

“ Yes,” responded Mistress Mary. 

“ Why, a cat may look at a King, Mrs. Claus,” 
the baker reminded her. 

But Mrs. Claus was flabbergasted. 

“ Little did I ever think that our cat would 
go amongst royalty,” she said. 

[ 30 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

“ Well, he did, anyway,” said Mistress Mary. 
“ And he was having a lovely time too. I never 
heard of a cat doing that before, running away 
to the king’s, but that’s where your cat was, just 
the same, for we found him right there, didn’t 
we, Jack? ” 

“ We did that,” said Jack. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Claus, “ I suppose it was 
too dull for him here, Santa Claus, with just 
you and me here in the kitchen. Misery loves 
company, you know.” 

Then she got up and went to the door. 

“ I don’t wish to seem unmannerly,” said 
Mrs. Claus, “ but I know you two children ought 
to be home and asleep. Does your mother know 
where you are, Mistress Mary? ” 

“ We stopped and told her on the way,” re¬ 
plied Mistress Mary, “ but we ought to go now, 
I know.” Then Mistress Mary went over to 
Santa. “ I meant to give you a Valentine, Santa 
Claus,” she said. “ I did mean to, but here it is 
St. Valentine’s Eve and I haven’t any for you, 
after all. I was contrary about it —” 

“ Why, Mistress Mary,” exclaimed Santa 
Claus, “ you brought Misery back to me. And 
Misery’s the very best Valentine I could pos¬ 
sibly have.” 


[ 31 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

Mistress Mary, happy as could be at this, 
beamed at Santa Claus. Mother Goose had told 
her that same thing — that if she took Misery 
back to his master, it would be the best Valen¬ 
tine he could have. And now Santa Claus had 
said so himself, and everything was all right. 
She went home overjoyed, and as Jack walked 
beside her, he thought what a nice girl Mis¬ 
tress Mary was when she forgot to be con¬ 
trary. 

It was not until Jack got clear inside the can¬ 
dlestick-shop that he remembered the Valentine 
his uncle had given him to take to Cross-Patch. 
Then what a sinking feeling he had in his heart. 
What would the old candlestick-maker say? 
How could he have forgotten to deliver thetVal- 
entine when it was the very thing he had been 
sent out for? Poor Jack, usually so nimble, so 
quick, so obedient, could have thrashed himself 
for his forgetfulness. He turned around to the 
door. Perhaps he could go back now and slip 
the Valentine under Cross-Patch’s door. But 
the candlestick-maker, who had looked as if he 
were dozing there on the bench, opened his eyes 
and spoke to Jack. 

“ Did ye leave her the Valentine? ” he asked. 

Jack grew red and began to stammer. 

[ 32 ] 


THE VALENTINE MISTRESS MARY FOUND 

“ Fm going — Fm going back — now —” he 
said. 

“Then ye didn’t leave it?” asked the old 
man. 

Oh, dear, how Jack hated to admit his dis¬ 
obedience. The old candlestick-maker was 
really such a good uncle to him, and now he 
had just gone off and forgotten to do his errand. 
But he had to answer, for the old man had his 
little eyes pinned on him. 

“ No, sir,” he said hesitatingly. “ No, sir, I 
forgot it, somehow. But Fll go back now.” 

The old man closed his eyes again for another 
doze. 

“ Never ye mind,” he said. “ It’s just as well. 
Don’t believe me and that old woman would 
get along very well, anyway.” 


[ 33 ] 


Ill 


HOW HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO THE 
KING’S PARTY 

I T was the fourteenth of March and there was 
a great stir and bustle in Pudding Lane. 
The ladies, in curl papers, were washing 
and ironing and mending like women possessed; 
the men hustled about their work at topmost 
speed; even the children had no time for play, 
but were busy running errands, taking baths, 
helping their mothers, fast and furiously. 

And what was the reason for all this industry*? 
Why, the day of the month was the reason. But 
perhaps you don’t know what the fourteenth of 
March stands for; I have met children who 
didn’t. The fourteenth of March is Old King 
Cole’s birthday, and on this particular day the 
merry old soul was going to have a party in the 
palace, to which he had invited every single per¬ 
son in Pudding Lane. 

“ I declare,” said Mrs. Claus suddenly, as she 
rushed about her tiny house with even more en- 
[ 34 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


ergy than ever, “ I declare, I forgot all about 
Humpty Dumpty ! 55 

She looked up at the baker, who was baking 
— well, it’s a secret what Mr. Claus was baking, 
and a surprise, so I think I’d better not tell even 
you what it was. “ Well,” went on Mrs. Claus, 
“ I am be-twittered, or I never should have for¬ 
gotten Humpty Dumpty, Mr. Claus.” 

“ Of course you wouldn’t,” agreed Mr. Claus, 
adding an extra flourish to the — well, to it . 

Mrs. Claus ran to the door. 

“ Santa,” she called, “ run right down to the 
Dumpties’ and see who’s going to sit up with 
Humpty to-night. I clean forgot about him. 
Tell Mrs. Dumpty I’ll sit myself, if nobody else 
has offered.” 

Mr. Claus looked up in alarm. 

“ You’d never miss the birthday party to sit 
up with Humpty Dumpty, would you?” he 
asked. 

“ I would if there was nobody else to sit up 
with him,” replied his wife stoutly, though in 
her heart she did hope she would not have to 
miss the King’s birthday party, for she had made 
herself a fine new yellow waist, had Mrs. Claus, 
and she was expecting to make quite a sensation 
in it. 


[ 35 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


“ Dear me,” said Mr. Claus, “ I don’t want to 
go to the party alone with five children, Mrs. 
Claus.” 

“ Well, you may have to,” was his wife’s com¬ 
forting reply. “ Poor Humpty Dumpty! He’s 
a public charge, Mr. Claus, what with having no 
father, and I’m not the one to neglect him, I’m 
really not.” 

Mrs. Claus, for all her tart speech, was a good 
soul, wasn’t she? It’s not hard to see where 
Santa Claus got his kind heart. 

But when Santa came back from the Dump- 
ties’, it was to report that Jack and Jill, who 
lived in the Dumpty block, had offered to stay 
with the invalid while Mrs. Dumpty disported 
herself with royalty for one evening. Jack, who 
still had his crown bandaged up, and Jill, who 
wore a patch on her cheek even now, had pain¬ 
ful memories of their own tumble, you see, and 
so naturally felt most sympathetic toward poor 
Humpty in his misfortune. 

“ Why, bless their little hearts,” said Mrs. 
Claus, “aren’t they good children? I never 
would have thought it of that tomboy Jill, to 
be frank with you.” 

After which display of candor, Mrs. Claus 
went on with her ironing and mending, to the 
[ 36 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

end that the Clauses should make a respectable 
appearance before Old King Cole and the Queen 
of Hearts. 

But even if Mrs. Dumpty were going to the 
party, her heart felt heavy about it, poor soul. 
For there sat her Humpty, confined to his chair, 
the most dejected of boys. And who wouldn’t 
have been dejected under those circumstances'? 
This was the first time that Old King Cole had 
ever celebrated his birthday with the humble 
people of Pudding Lane. Once the King of 
France had come for that great occasion, and 
Mother Goose was often invited to share his 
birthday cake, but until to-day the people of 
Pudding Lane had never been invited for the 
festivity. 

And such an occasion as this was going to be 
too! There was to be a supper two hours long; 
there was to be music from London; there was to 
be a Punch-and-Judy show; but wonder of all 
wonders, there was to be a trained bear! All 
this, not to mention the surprise that Mr. Claus 
was baking. Oh, dear, Humpty Dumpty did 
wish he could walk up the hill to the palace. If 
he just could! Or if somebody could carry him. 
But, alas, it was impossible. Humpty was too 
heavy, the hill was too steep. So that all the 
[ 37 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


poor boy could do was to sit in his chair and 
think, think, think and wish, wish, wish. 

Mrs. Dumpty came in when she was dressed 
and looked at him anxiously. 

“ You know Jack and Jill are only going to 
stay until you fall asleep, 5 ’ she told him. “ It 
wouldn’t be right to ask them to miss all of the 
party.” 

“ Oh, no,” replied Humpty, but he could not, 
for the life of him, look as cheerful as he wanted 
to. 

“ Poor boy,” said Mrs. Dumpty. Then she 
added with sudden conviction, “ I’m not going at 
all. I’m not going. I shall stay right here with 
you.” 

But Humpty protested so vigorously that 
Mrs. Dumpty finally yielded to his entreaties. 
It would be disrespectful to the King to stay 
home, she admitted, though she certainly didn’t 
feel very partyfied, she added. Then she asked 
Humpty if he liked her beads, and Humpty told 
her he liked them very much, though what that 
boy knew about beads was very little, I suspect. 

“ I always did like a red bead,” said Mrs. 
Dumpty. “ Good-by, darling Humpty. I’ll 
bring you a piece of birthday cake, whether or 
no.” 


[ 38 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

I don’t believe Pudding Lane ever saw any¬ 
thing half so grand as that party at Old 
King Cole’s palace. There were flowers and 
music, fruits and confections, jewelry and 
satins, all mixed up, until it made your head 
swim. 

The King and Queen stood up to receive their 
guests in the most cordial manner possible. It 
was true that the Queen of Hearts could think 
of nothing else to say but “ And how are you 
this evening?” and then didn’t listen as the 
good, honest people of Pudding Lane started to 
tell her in great detail just exactly how they 
were that evening. It is equally true that Old 
King Cole laughed immoderately, no matter 
what anybody said, and that he even laughed 
at Mrs. Dumpty when she tearfully offered 
Humpty’s regrets,— behavior that made that 
devoted mother highly indignant. But that was 
just Old King Cole’s way of being pleasant; and 
it was certainly much better than folding your 
arms and frowning prodigiously, as the butcher 
did; or pulling a long, melancholy face, like the 
baker; or bowing and jerking forward inces¬ 
santly, as the candlestick-maker seemed to think 
it necessary to do. There are all kinds of ways 
of being polite, but it does seem as if the butcher 
[ 39 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


and the baker and the candlestick-maker might 
have selected more winning methods. 

“ Dear me, Mr. Claus/’ said Mrs. Grundy, 
coming up to him as he stood between his neigh¬ 
bors, the picture of dismal woe, “ is it such a 
sad occasion as that? ” 

Mr. Claus jumped and looked at her even 
more solemnly than ever, and the butcher glared 
ferociously at her, and the candlestick-maker, 
bowing low, bumped the good lady’s fan out of 
her hand. 

“ Mercy on us!” ejaculated Mrs. Grundy. 
“ Somebody rescue me from these creatures.” 

Whereupon up came Jack Spratt to offer her 
his arm. 

“ There’s lean meat on the banquet table,” he 
whispered. “ Come, let’s have some of it.” 

So Mrs. Grundy disappeared on the arm of 
the accomplished Jack Spratt as Mr. Claus 
watched them enviously. 

“ I wonder how he does it,” thought the baker 
to himself. Poor Mr. Claus, he was but a hum¬ 
ble fellow, more at home with his pies and cakes 
than in such brilliant company as this. 

Mrs. Claus, however, was no dullard in so¬ 
ciety, for she could speak her mind to anybody, 
and was even now telling the Queen of Hearts 
[ 40 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

how she had made that yellow waist she wore 
out of just one yard and an eighth of cloth, not 
counting the cuffs. Santa, too, was having a 
fine time with all the other children, Bo-Peep, 
Jack Horner, Little Miss Muffett, Matthew, 
Mark, Luke and John and all the rest. 

Yes, they were all having a delightful time at 
Old King Cole’s party. Even Simple Simon 
felt at home in the palace, as he went happily 
about, eating and drinking, smiling and nod¬ 
ding. He even danced a bit, did Simple Simon, 
and did not seem to mind at all that while he 
was doing the polka, everybody else, including 
his partner, was dancing a waltz. But his part¬ 
ner minded, I can tell you, and if any little girl 
wants to have her toes stepped on and her shoes 
completely spoiled, just let her try to dance with 
Simple Simon as Polly Flinders did on that 
night of the fourteenth of March. 

At last, when everybody had danced a little, 
and eaten and drunk quite a lot, and talked 
some, and stared at all the trappings of the pal¬ 
ace a great deal, at last it came time for the 
trained bear. At the announcement the little 
boys yelled with delight, the little girls shiv¬ 
ered, the mothers and fathers sat up importantly 
and looked exceedingly brave. 

[ 41 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

For this was no common bear, but a noted 
beast from London who had made that great city 
laugh and gasp many a night with his antics and 
tricks. And here he came! Oh, how funny he 
was, that bear. The way he walked was funny, 
as he ambled slowly in, straight past the King 
and Queen without so much as a glance at their 
royal personages. The way he looked was 
funny, as his little eyes glimmered from their 
depth of brown fur, and he yawned softly in the 
most bored fashion possible. The way he acted 
was funny, too, and the children screamed 
as he put up one paw and slowly rubbed his 
nose, for all the world like a meditative old 
man. 

But his tricks were funnier still, and as Tubby 
Tim, the old bear trainer, cracked his whip and 
shouted his commands, the children of Pudding 
Lane, and the grown-ups, too, thought they had 
never seen such a remarkable bear. As indeed, 
they had not, never having seen any bear at all 
before. 

“ Up, Bumbo, old boy! ” shouted Tubby Tim, 
and the bear stood on his hind legs. 

“ Waltz, Bumbo! One, two, three ! 55 ordered 
Tubby Tim, and lo, the bear was swaying 
around on his hind feet in a waltz that nobody 
[ 42 ] 



No Lady Wind was that . 
bear that stood before 


No dog either . But a 
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v, 






HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


would have been ashamed of. In truth, Polly 
Flinders was thinking to herself that she’d a 
great deal rather dance with the bear than with 
Simple Simon. 

But at last, when the old bear had roared loud 
and alarmingly at the children (who stopped 
laughing then), when he had stood on his head 
and shown his teeth and rolled a hoop and done 
a great many other astounding things, Tubby 
Tim said abruptly, “ That’s all ”, and led him 
out. But the party wasn’t over yet by a good 
deal, for there was still the puppet show, which 
Tubby Tim now started to make ready. 

Jack and Jill and Humpty Dumpty down in 
the Dumpty house meanwhile were having a 
quiet little game of “ Button, button ” when 
they heard a noise at the door. 

“ What’s that?” asked Jack. 

“ The Lady Wind,” answered Jill. “ March 
is her month, you know.” 

“ It sounds more like a dog than a lady,” said 
Jack. 

“ Ho, ho,” scoffed Jill, “ you don’t even know 
wind when you hear it.” With which Miss Jill 
flounced to the door and flung it wide open. 
But goodness, what was that in the doorway? 
No Lady Wind was that. No dog either. But 
[ 43 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


a bear that stood before her, yellow-eyed and 
open-mouthed! 

“ Oh! 55 gasped Jill faintly. 

“ Oh, oh!” breathed Jack and Humpty to¬ 
gether. 

The bear ambled into the room. 

“ Run,” cried Jack to Jill. “ Run upstairs 
and shut the door tight, or he’ll eat you! ” 

“ But he’ll eat you too! Come along,” whis¬ 
pered Jill. 

Then they both looked at Humpty Dumpty, 
who sat quaking and white in his chair. For 
Humpty could not run, of course, and he saw 
himself a fine meal for that open mouth. 

“ No, we must stay with Humpty,” said Jill, 
shivering with fear. 

“ Of course,” answered Jack, trembling. 

“ Perhaps if we all fight him, we can get him 
out,” suggested Jill. 

“ Yes, come on, let’s fight him,” replied Jack. 

“ I can’t fight,” said Humpty from his chair, 
“ but I can glare mighty hard. I’ll glare at him, 
Jill.” 

“ Yes, you glare, Humpty Dumpty,” said Jill 
encouragingly. 

Jack by this time had rolled up his sleeves, 
ready for battle, and Jill, flinging back the hair 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

from her eyes, rushed at the bear headlong. But 
what was that bear doing, anyway, if he were 
not rubbing against Jill’s knees with the affec¬ 
tion of an old family cat*? What was he paw¬ 
ing at her so softly, so gently for, if it were not 
because he wanted her to play with him? Why 
did he look up at her with those funny little yel¬ 
low eyes, if it were not to reassure her as to his 
good intentions? 

“ Why,” cried Jill, “ I believe he’s a pet 
bear! ” 

“ I think he is! ” answered Jack. 

“ I wonder if he’d like to be patted,” ven¬ 
tured Humpty, putting a timid hand on Bum¬ 
bo’s back. The bear dropped on his back and 
pawed playfully in the air. 

“ He does want to play,” cried Humpty 
Dumpty. 

What a fine playfellow he was, too, that 
Bumbo bear, as the three children romped with 
him there in Mrs. Dumpty’s back parlor. How 
he rolled and pawed and growled — just a pre¬ 
tend-growl, though; you could tell he didn’t 
mean a thing by it. How he tumbled and 
jumped and trotted around the room. He even 
seemed to understand that Humpty could not 
play as the other children could, but went to 
[ 45 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

Humpty’s chair and nosed and pawed around so 
amusingly that the poor invalid quite forgot 
himself in his delight. 

The Punch-and-Judy show was meanwhile 
progressing at the palace, and Judy had just 
given Punch a mighty cuff on the cheek, to the 
infinite pleasure of the audience, when Mr. 
Claus, who had laughed until the tears came, 
began to fish for his pocket handkerchief. But, 
as he fished, his eye was arrested by a startling 
vision at the door. 

“ Great snakes! ” he roared suddenly. 

Tubby Tim dropped his puppets and every¬ 
body looked up quickly. 

“ Saints preserve us! ” shrieked Mrs. Grundy. 

And immediately there arose such a bellow¬ 
ing and crying, such a tumbling of chairs and 
confusion of figures, as to make Old King Cole’s 
birthday party look like a riot instead. Mr. Hor¬ 
ner was seen to throw off his coat in great haste, 
Simple Simon began to call loudly and insist¬ 
ently for help, Mrs. Dumpty started to faint, 
then thought better of it, and came to again. As 
for the Queen of Hearts, that royal lady 
straightway went into a fine fit of hysterics, de¬ 
portment which she considered highly becoming 
to queens in time of stress. 

[ 46 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

And what do you suppose was the cause of all 
this uproar? What was this vision in the door¬ 
way that had suddenly set all of Pudding Lane 
to screaming and bawling? 

It was nothing more than our friend Bumbo, 
who stood in the doorway blinking soberly, 
with Humpty Dumpty on his back and Jack 
and Jill on each side of him. Which, you’ll 
have to admit, was pretty much of a surprise 
for people who had supposed that the bear was 
snoozing in the pantry; and which looked in¬ 
deed like a dangerous business to folks that 
didn’t know what a very friendly bear Bumbo 
was. 

But so smiling and serene were those three 
children, so extremely placid was Bumbo him¬ 
self, that it finally became apparent that there 
was really nothing to howl about. And so at 
last the noise did subside somewhat, save for the 
exceedingly loud sniffling of Jill’s mother, who 
was having a little weep all to herself, and quite 
naturally too. 

Then Jill explained the business. 

“ He was such a friendly bear,” she ended, 
nodding brightly at Tubby Tim, “ so well- 
trained, that Jack and I thought there would be 
nothing easier than to bring Humpty up here 
[ 47 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


on his back. And it was; it was as easy as pie. 
And here he is.” 

But Mr. Claus had started up suddenly at the 
mention of “ pie 55 and bolted through the as¬ 
semblage and out of/ the door. Old King Cole 
looked over at Mrs. Claus in a rather annoyed 
manner. 

“ What’s happened now, Mrs. Claus?” he 
asked crustily. “ Is your husband ill, per¬ 
haps?” 

“ Well, I wouldn’t know, your Majesty,” re¬ 
plied Mrs. Claus, who, if the truth must be told, 
was deeply ashamed of her husband’s odd com¬ 
pany manners. “ He was all right when we left 
home,” and to herself she muttered that it wasn’t 
her fault if the man acted like a zany. Do you 
know what a zany is? Well, Mrs. Claus didn’t 
either, but she supposed it was some kind of 
animal, and she liked to apply the word to Mr. 
Claus in what she called his “ off ” moments. 

But bless you, it was Mrs. Claus who was 
having the off moment this time, for what the 
baker had gone for was the secret, a thing that 
everybody had completely forgotten in the hub¬ 
bub and excitement. So that not only Old King 
Cole, but everybody else was surprised when 
Mr. Claus came strutting back with it, the se- 
[ 48 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 

cret, in his hands. When they did see it, they 
remembered again, and all started to sing a verse 
that Mrs. Grundy had composed for the occa¬ 
sion, which began, “ Sing a song of sixpence, 
pocket full of rye.” And now you know, don’t 
you, what the surprise was that Mr. Claus had 
baked for Old King Cole’s birthday? And sure 
enough, when that merry old soul cut open his 
birthday pie, out flew the four and twenty black¬ 
birds and began to sing; and, as Mrs. Grundy 
said, was that not a dainty dish to set before a 
king? 

Old King Cole thought it was. He was the 
most surprised and delighted man you ever saw, 
and as the birds flew around the room and sang, 
he became more charmed and bewildered than 
ever, so that he really was in no condition to 
make a speech when the people called for one. 
But he arose just the same and, taking off his 
crown, fumbled nervously with it, as he tried 
to think of something to say. His people the 
meanwhile beamed loyally at him, so happy 
that they had really pleased Old King Cole, 
who was always doing something to please them. 

“ Friends,” began the King, “ I am deeply 
obliged —” Then he stopped and burst into a 
hearty laugh, which rang and reverberated down 
[ 49 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


the great halls and rooms of the palace until the 
building almost shook. 

And that was as far as Old King Cole ever 
got, for every time he’d try to sober down and 
go on with the speech, laughter overcame him, 
until at last all the people there began to laugh 
just to see him. They roared, they shook, they 
rocked with laughter, did those good people of 
Pudding Lane, until it began to look as if they 
would never get their faces straight again, never 
get their breath again, never stop holding their 
sides. Even the butcher left off frowning, the 
baker stopped looking dismal, the candlestick- 
maker ceased bowing, as they all laughed there 
together. And of course Jack and Jill laughed, 
and Humpty Dumpty, too, for they were the 
ones to whom it was the most fun of all, because 
they were the ones who had nearly missed the 
party. 

And let me tell you something. The bear 
laughed too. He didn’t make a noise about it, 
and he didn’t shake, but there was a look in his 
eye that was plainly a look of laughter, and 
there was a twist to his mouth, as he stood there 
by Tubby Tim’s legs, that was unmistakably a 
grin. Yes, Bumbo laughed too. And if any¬ 
body wants to know, he laughed many times 
[ 50 ] 


HUMPTY DUMPTY WENT TO KING’S PARTY 


after that as he thought of King Cole’s birthday 
party and of his part in the whole performance. 
For, of course, if Bumbo had not trotted off ad¬ 
venturing as he did, Humpty Dumpty would 
never have got to the party, and if — oh, well, 
he did go trotting off, so what’s the use of if-ing 
about it? 


[* 1 ] 


IV 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

I T had seemed to the children of Pudding 
Lane that April Fool’s Day would never, 
never come, they had been waiting for it so 
long; and now that it had come, blest if it wasn’t 
raining pitchforks, as Mrs. Claus said. And blest 
if it wasn’t. It really did look like pitchforks, 
that rain, as it came slanting down in sharp, shin¬ 
ing spears, splash, splash, splash, as fast as it 
could come. It really looked as if the sun would 
never shine in Pudding Lane again, for surely no 
sun would be foolish enough even to try to break 
through all that darkness and wetness and 
gloom. 

And so, if you had been a frog in a puddle on 
Pudding Lane that morning, you would have 
seen noses pressed tight against every window 
there and disappointed eyes fastened sadly on 
the rainy world outside. You might even have 
seen rain in those eyes themselves, though I 
wouldn’t be positive of that. That roundish 

m 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

nose there against the first window was Humpty 
Dumpty’s; the turned-up one was Jill’s; the 
straight little pretty one was Miss Muffett’s; 
all those pert affairs sticking out of the button¬ 
holes of the Shoe were no others than the noses 
of the children of the Old Woman Who Lived 
there. 

The only nose that was not plastered against 
a window was Simple Simon’s and the reason 
that Simple Simon’s nose was not there was be¬ 
cause Simple Simon himself was out in the rain, 
and his nose was with him. Yes, that foolish 
fellow was standing in front of the butcher 
shop, and as composedly as if it were the sun, 
and not the rain, that was beating down on his 
head. But why was he holding that long thick 
rope so carefully in his right hand? And what 
was that tiny object on the walk to which his 
eyes were directed so intently? 

That object seemed to be a purse, a very, very 
small purse — oh, now we know what poor Sim¬ 
ple Simon thought he was doing, don’t we? He 
thought he was going to fool somebody with that 
old, old trick. He thought somebody would 
come along pretty soon, stoop to pick up the 
pocketbook, and that he, the clever Simon, 
would ierk it out of reach. He could see now, 
[ 53 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

in his mind’s eye, how silly the somebody would 
look, and he snickered there to himself at the 
mere thought of that delicious moment. Oh, 
Simon, Simon! As if anybody with half an eye 
would not have seen the rope long before he saw 
the wee pocketbook. As if anybody would have 
been apt to come strolling along in the rain, 
anyway! Ah, me, I’m afraid Simple Simon’s 
wits do not improve much with the years. 

Well, it kept on raining and Simple Simon 
kept on standing there and the rest of the Pud¬ 
ding Lane children kept on looking forlornly 
at the rain, when whirr, swish, plop,— down 
dropped Mother Goose on the gander’s back, di¬ 
rectly in front of Simple Simon. Simple Simon 
wrenched his eyes a moment from the purse to 
smile swiftly and delightedly at the beloved old 
lady, who now hardly looked like herself, so 
drenched and dripping was she. 

“ Good morning, Simon,” said Mother Goose, 
as the gander shook a shower of water from his 
back. 

Simon’s smile waxed wider. 

“ Morning, mum,” he answered with a bow, 
then straightened up and sent his eyes flying 
back to the purse. He didn’t want anybody to 
come along and pick it up when he wasn’t look- 
[ 54 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

ing, you see! Mother Goose regarded him curi¬ 
ously for a moment. 

“Fooling somebody, Simple Simon?” she 
asked. 

“ Yes’m,” replied Simple Simon gleefully. 

Mother Goose laughed softly. 

“ Well, I guess it’s Simple Simon you’re fool¬ 
ing,” she said, and ran into the Clauses’ next 
door. 

Simple Simon meditated a while over what 
Mother Goose had just said and was highly 
pleased. How funny that was, he thought, to 
be fooling yourself! For, of course, Simple 
Simon did not mind in the least being the butt 
of his own joke. And if he didn’t mind, I sup¬ 
pose we needn’t. Only it does seem like a queer 
kind of April Fool’s trick to go to all that trouble 
just to fool yourself, doesn’t it? 

Inside the cozy little kitchen at the Clauses’ 
Mother Goose dried her clothes and visited com¬ 
fortably with her daughter, Mrs. Claus, and the 
rest of the family. 

“ My goodness, Santa,” she exclaimed, “ you 
are a long-faced little boy! And the twins! 
Why, what can be the matter with these chil¬ 
dren, Nellie?” She turned to her daughter, 
“ Are they ill? ” 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

“ It’s April Fool’s Day, Mother Goose,” 
spoke up little Santa. 

“ I know that,” replied his grandmother 
promptly. “And I, for one, think that the 
Weather Man has done a fine job of fooling all 
you children.” 

Santa Claus looked up surprised. 

“ Do you suppose that’s why he sent the 
rain? ” he asked Mother Goose. 

“ Not a doubt of it in the world,” answered 
the old lady vigorously. “ The Weather Man 
has to have a little fun, you know. And I’ll 
venture he’s laughing fit to kill at the sight of 
your doleful chops.” 

Here Mother Goose laughed merrily, and 
Santa Claus tried manfully to laugh too; but 
it’s hard to laugh when the joke’s on you, and 
I’m afraid he didn’t make a very good job of it. 

“ Maybe he’ll fool you again and send the 
sun pretty soon,” suggested Mrs. Claus. She 
felt pretty sorry for the children, did Mrs. Claus, 
and she was surprised that Mother Goose did 
not seem more sympathetic. 

“ Nonsense,” said Mother Goose tartly. “ I 
say, you people are serious-minded folk for such 
a day as April Fool’s. You must take a joke 
better than this, you know, or you’ll spoil the 
[ 56 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

Weather Man’s fun entirely. Why, I shall be 
ashamed to show my face up there at the 
Weather Man’s house if he thinks my grand¬ 
children don’t know how to take a joke! ” 

“Are you going up to see the Weather 
Man? ” asked Mrs. Claus. 

“ I’m on my way there now,” Mother Goose 
told her. 

“And what about the Man in the Moon?” 
asked Mrs. Claus, smirking at the baker, who 
tried his best to smirk back. 

“ The Man in the Moon is suffering a tem¬ 
porary eclipse,” replied the old lady sharply, at 
which Mrs. Claus and Mr. Claus both laughed 
heartily, and Santa wondered what kind of dis¬ 
ease an eclipse was, and if it hurt as much as 
the mumps did. 

“ As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with 
seven wives, Mr. Claus,” said Mother Goose cas¬ 
ually to her son-in-law. 

Mr. Claus jumped out of his chair. 

“Seven wives!” he exclaimed. “Great 
snakes, Mother Goose, seven wives! Why, 
what would a man want with seven of ’em — 
that is — oh, dear, seven! ” Clearly Mr. Claus 
was greatly agitated over this piece of news. 

“ But they weren’t his wives, Mr. Claus,” 
[ 57 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 


added Mother Goose. “ They were his broth¬ 
ers’ wives. Ha, ha, April Fool! ” cried Mother 
Goose. At which she and Mrs. Claus and the 
children shouted with delight, as poor Mr. Claus 
grinned foolishly and wished he hadn’t been so 
quick to bite at Mother Goose’s bait. 

But while all this was going on in the Clauses’ 
house, Simple Simon was playing another joke 
all by himself outside. For it had occurred to 
him that it would be the best possible fun to 
play a joke on old Mother Goose herself. And 
so, what did Simple Simon do but step softly 
around to the shed where the old lady had left 
her gander? What did he do but take that gan¬ 
der and carry him into The-House-that-Jack 
Built, that big uninhabited house a few doors 
away? What did he do but hide the gander 
there and then come out on to Pudding Lane 
again, looking as wicked and proud of himself 
as you please? 

“ Well,” said Mother Goose, when she went 
out to the shed and found that the gander was 
not there, “ this is a pretty pickle.” 

Mrs. Claus agreed that it was a pretty pickle, 
but Mr. Claus differed a bit with the ladies and 
called it a “ fine how-do-you-do.” Anyway 
what they all meant was that it wasn’t a pretty 
[ 58 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

pickle, or even a fine how-do-you-do, but that it 
was instead a very serious thing for Mother 
Goose to lose her gander. So they started 
straightway to hunt the gander, but although 
they searched and searched and called and called 
that bird, they could not find him in all of Pud¬ 
ding Lane. And at last they came back to the 
house, drenched with rain, and sat down in a 
gloomy circle around the stove. 

“ Whatever will you do without the gander, 
Mother Goose?” asked Mrs. Claus. 

“ Do? ” repeated Mother Goose with some as¬ 
perity. “ Well, I’ll just stay here the rest of 
my days, I suppose. I certainly can’t fly around 
the world with nothing to fly on, can I?” 

“ But what will the Weather Man think 
when you don’t appear for your visit?” 

“ Goodness only knows,” answered Mother 
Goose. “ He’ll think something, you may be 
sure. And we’ll know soon enough what he 
thinks. If he’s angry, he might even send a tor¬ 
nado. Oh, don’t shiver now, baker. It hasn’t 
struck us yet. What is coming over that bird? 
He acts like a loon sometimes. I really think 
I’ll have to get myself a fine turkey gobbler to 
ride on. They have more sense than ganders.” 

Mother Goose would not have scolded and 
[ 59 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

fussed like this at the poor absent gander had 
she known what a flutter that bird was in him¬ 
self. For the gander had not run away at all, 
but had been taken by Simple Simon entirely 
against his will, and now as he stood in The- 
House-that-Jack-Built, tied fast to a bedpost, 
his were harsh and desperate thoughts. To 
think that he had been tricked like this by that 
absurd Simple Simon, he of all fowls the most 
trustworthy, the most sagacious. Tied to a bed¬ 
post indeed! What humiliation, what degrada¬ 
tion! The poor gander squirmed and writhed 
with the bitter shame of it; but he might as well 
have stood still, for he was tied with that very 
rope Simple Simon had used for his other joke, 
and that rope, as we know, was a very substan¬ 
tial affair, such as no mere gander could break. 

But while Mother Goose fussed and the gan¬ 
der squirmed, one person was laughing aloud at 
the fun of it all, and that person was, of course, 
Simple Simon. He could hardly contain him¬ 
self as he stood there in the rain and thought 
about it. And to tell the truth, Mother Goose 
and Mr. Claus had looked pretty funny as they 
ran down Pudding Lane, calling the gander. 
Mother Goose, indeed, always looked funny 
when she ran, for the good old lady was so ac- 
[ 60 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

customed to riding that she took very ill to run¬ 
ning. But when she ran in a rainstorm, as she 
did on this day, she was just a little more ridicu¬ 
lous than ever, with her long skirts wound 
damply around her legs, her glasses streaming 
with water, her feet in Mr. Claus’s enormous 
rubber boots which sloshed, sloshed, sloshed. 

As for Mr. Claus, he was not quite so funny 
until you noticed the cascade of rain that came 
spouting down on his nose through a hole in 
his umbrella, and then he became very funny 
indeed. And the really ludicrous thing about 
that was that the more Mr. Claus tried to dodge 
the waterfall, the faster it came through the 
hole; and the more he shifted the umbrella 
around, the more accurately did the waterfall 
strike him on the very tip-tip of his nose. Yes, 
that was very amusing, and Simple Simon 
laughed himself weak now as he remembered it. 
All the other children at the windows had 
laughed at the sight too, though they did not 
know why Mr. Claus and Mother Goose were 
out in the rain like that. They had paid no 
attention to Simon and his tricks. Nobody ever 
did. 

Up in his home the Weather Man was be¬ 
coming decidedly worried at the non-arrival of 
[ 61 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

his expected guest, Mother Goose, and he con¬ 
fessed to the Weather Woman, his wife, that he 
was afraid something was terribly, terribly 
wrong. 

“ She always keeps her engagements , 55 he 
said. “ She is a most punctual woman . 55 

“ Perhaps she is ill , 55 suggested the Weather 
Woman. 

“ She’s never been ill in her life , 55 said the 
Weather Man. 

“ No sign she never will be , 55 retorted the 
Weather Woman. 

Just then the Weather Girl and the Weather 
Boy came in, those two hardy children of the 
Weather Man. 

“ Where’s Mother Goose ? 55 they demanded. 

“ Not here,” replied the Weather Man. 

“ Didn’t come,” said the Weather Woman. 

“Not here! Didn’t come!” repeated the 
Weather Children. “Why, what’s the matter? 
Is the rain too much for her? 55 

The Weather Man looked thoughtful at this 
suggestion, then turned to his wife. 

“ Weather Woman,” he addressed her, “ do 
you suppose that this rain could possibly be the 
reason for Mother Goose’s failure to appear?” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder a bit,” replied the 

[ 62 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAYj 

Weather Woman. “ You know how those 
earth-people are about rain. I declare, some¬ 
times I think they’ll never get used to it, the 
way they carry umbrellas in the rain, and wear 
waterproofs against it, and stay at home be¬ 
cause of it, as if a little water once in a while 
would hurt the dear creatures! ” 

“ Well,” spoke the Weather Man, “ if that’s 
the reason that Mother Goose hasn’t come, we’ll 
have to stop the rain, that’s all. Weather Chil¬ 
dren,” he ordered, “ kindly shut off the rain and 
turn on the sun. Perhaps we’ve fooled the chil¬ 
dren of Pudding Lane long enough, anyway.” 

So that is how it happened that three min¬ 
utes later, Pudding Lane found itself bathed in 
clear, sparkling sunshine which left no sign of 
the previous rain except the puddles in the 
street, the gently dripping trees, and some lit¬ 
tle ruffled-up birds, who shook themselves furi¬ 
ously in the sun and sang loud songs of thanks¬ 
giving that the downpour was over. And 
that is how it happened that all the children 
came tumbling out of their homes pell-mell as 
they did and began fooling each other as fast 
as ever they could to make up for lost time. 

Such jokes as those children played too! 
There was Handy-Spandy, Jack-a-Dandy, for 
[ 63 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 


example, who really was such easy prey it was 
almost too bad to fool him. For when Santa 
Claus offered the greedy fellow a nice plum 
cake, or what looked like a plum cake, Handy- 
Spandy just grabbed it and sank his teeth into 
it without a single question — without even 
much of a thank-you, though I guess that mum¬ 
ble in his throat was meant for a thank-you. 
And when he bit down into the cake, oh, how the 
children screamed, for it wasn’t a plum cake at 
all, but a cotton cake, which Mr. Claus had 
made especially for the children to fool Handy 
with on that first day of April. 

They fooled Santa Claus too, telling him that 
Judy wanted him down at the Shoe; but when 
Santa ran as fast as he could run down to the 
shoe, there was nothing waiting there for him 
but a big sign which said, “ April Fool, Santa! ” 
Which did surprise that little boy vastly, for he 
had forgotten he could be fooled, so busy was he 
trying to fool other people. 

The children had a good deal of fun with 
Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, for when he wasn’t 
looking, Johnny Bo-Peep pinned a big card on 
Tom’s back which read, “ Please to kick me, my 
dears! ” And then when the children proceeded 
to obey the injunction, poor Tom looked so be- 
[ 64 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

wildered and foolish that it almost seemed as if 
that were the very funniest joke of all. 

Oh, everybody was fooled good and plenty, 
and great was the noise, the laughter and shout¬ 
ing. And at last, when all the tricks had been 
exhausted, and when the children were ex¬ 
hausted too, out came Mother Goose from the 
Clauses 5 house. 

“ I say , 55 she cried to the children, who had 
surrounded her until you couldn’t see a thing of 
her but the tip of her pointed hat, “ I say, I know 
somebody you haven’t fooled! 55 

Oh, was there still somebody to fool? De¬ 
lightful! 

“ Yes,” went on Mother Goose, “ we can still 
fool somebody else. We can still fool the gan¬ 
der, children! For he’s run off to fool us, I sup¬ 
pose, and now if we find him, it’ll be a joke on 
the silly bird, you see.” 

So they started out on the great search for the 
gander, all of them, scattered in every direction. 
And what of Simple Simon? Well, Simple 
Simon was just as pleased as he could possibly 
be over the whole affair, for now that he had 
fooled Mother Goose by hiding her gander, he 
was perfectly willing to fool the gander by 
bringing him back to Mother Goose. You see, 
[ 65 ] 


SIMPLE SIMON HAS HIS DAY 

he was so simple that he didn’t comprehend that 
to bring the gander back would not really fool 
him at all. So into The-House-that-Jack-Built 
trotted Simple Simon, chuckling jovially at the 
whole affair, and out he came again in half a 
minute, leading the dejected old gander behind 
him. 

“ Bless me,” said Mother Goose, when she 
caught sight of the gander, “ here he is. Why, 
Simple Simon, you are a fine fellow, indeed you 
are.” 

Simple Simon, no longer able to contain him¬ 
self, laughed outright. 

“ I did fool you, after all, didn’t I? ” he asked 
proudly. “ I hid the gander, Mother Goose,” 
he went on excitedly, “ and you never guessed 
it at all.” 

And there the absurd fellow had given the 
whole thing away! Oh, how the children en¬ 
joyed that joke, and how Mother Goose laughed 
too. But above all the racket could be heard 
Simple Simon’s great guffaws celebrating his 
own wit and smartness, like the simpleton he 
was. 


[ 66 ] 


V 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 


M rs. peter, peter, pumpkin- 

eater was briskly shaking out her 
best parlor rug in her back garden one 
fine May day when flap, flap, clack, clack, came 
a noise to her ears. 

“ Bless me,” said the tiny lady, looking up, 
“ if Mrs. Dumpty isn’t at it too.” 

True enough, the mother of Humpty was 
likewise in her back garden, beating a rug, and 
as Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater looked to the other side 
of her, she discovered that Jill’s mother was do¬ 
ing precisely the same thing. Then she saw 
that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was 
shaking out her rugs too, and so were Mrs. 
Grundy and Mrs. Claus, the mother of Santa, 
— why, all of Pudding Lane was shaking out 
its rugs at that very minute! Which was not 
so strange, when you consider that this was the 
first day of May, which, as anybody knows, 
[ 67 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

means house-cleaning to any right-thinking 
woman. But the first of May means also a May- 
pole and a May Queen and baskets of flowers 
on the door knobs. And now we’re coming to 
the really sad part of this story. 

For it did look as if house-cleaning this year 
were going to crowd out May Day in Pudding 
Lane completely. Always before, while the 
mothers of Pudding Lane were cleaning their 
houses, Mother Goose had come to give the chil¬ 
dren their May Day, so that they had never 
missed it. But this year Mother Goose had 
gone to a house party at the Frosts’, Jack and 
his wife, you know, who do a good deal of en¬ 
tertaining in their slack season. And so, since 
Mother Goose was not there and the mothers 
of Pudding Lane were so busy with house-clean¬ 
ing, it did look very doubtful about the May- 
pole. 

The children, Bo-Peep, Jack Horner, Polly 
Flinders, Jack and Jill and Santa Claus, were 
talking about it in Santa Claus’s shed that very 
morning. 

“ They could house-clean to-morrow. I 
wouldn’t mind living in a dirty house one more 
day,” ruminated Jack. 

“ I wouldn’t mind it forever,” spoke up Jill. 

[ 68 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 


Which was probably true, for Jill was not the 
tidiest little girl in the world. 

Then Simple Simon jumped up quite sud¬ 
denly and began to dance, throwing his long 
legs gleefully around and laughing as he did 
so,— quite a spectacle, I can assure you. Even 
the children, who were used to his queer ways, 
were astonished, and they were still more aston¬ 
ished when he abruptly sat down, and drawing 
them all close about him on the shed floor, began 
to tell them a wonderful secret, in a whispering 
voice so full of “ shishes ” and “ shushes ” they 
could hardly hear what he said. 

And as soon as Simple Simon had finished, 
the children all jumped to their feet and ran 
off together, so that in another moment not one 
of them was to be seen in Pudding Lane. Their 
mothers did not even miss them, so deep were 
they in the business of house-cleaning. 

A deadly earnest business it was too. You 
could see by the way Mrs. Dumpty pressed her 
lips together that this was no laughing matter. 
You could tell by the set of Mother Hubbard’s 
jaw that she’d see this affair through to the fin¬ 
ish, come what would. And as for the tiny Mrs. 
Pumpkin-Eater, well, although her rug was 
three times as big as she was, and she herself 
[ 69 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

was only one third as big as she ought to have 
been, she shook that offending piece of carpet 
as if to shake its very red roses off, and I think 
she would have loosened a petal or two, if they 
had been any but woolen roses. 

But if all this were deadly serious to those 
excellent housewives themselves, it was an even 
grimmer business for their husbands. If ever a 
man is miserable, it is during spring house-clean¬ 
ing, and already on this day uncomfortable 
things had begun to happen to the men of Pud¬ 
ding Lane. Mr. Claus, for one, had risen to find 
the kitchen table upside down in the back gar¬ 
den and had been forced to eat his breakfast 
from the window sill, no good way to start the 
day, certainly. But it was rather worse for 
Jack Spratt, who got no breakfast at all. Mrs. 
Spratt simply told him she couldn’t be both¬ 
ered, unless, she added, he’d “ do with a piece 
of fat meat ”, which of course, being the man 
he was, he couldn't do with. 

Mr. Horner, poor man, slipped on a piece of 
wet soap which was on the kitchen floor — 
though it certainly had no business there — and 
nearly broke his neck. And Peter, Peter, Pump¬ 
kin-Eater was forced to appear in public in his 
shirt sleeves, because, when he had marched to 
[ 70 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

his old peg that morning to fetch his coat as 
usual, it was to discover that not only had the 
coat disappeared, but the peg had too — which 
shows how far things had gone in the pumpkin 
shell that morning. 

But the most miserable of all men in Pud¬ 
ding Lane that day was Old King Cole, the 
merry old soul himself. It does seem as if a 
King ought not be bothered with such unpleas¬ 
ant affairs as house-cleaning. But Old King 
Cole was bothered, for the Queen of Hearts 
was nothing if she was not a good housekeeper. 
Consequently, the king had awakened that 
morning to find carpets up and curtains down, 
furniture stacked, dishes, brushes, paint cans, 
brooms, buckets everywhere, and the Queen, her 
royal head in a dust cap, chasing the servants 
about in what looked like a mad game of tag. 

Moreover, as the Queen was having the 
throne regilded and the chairs all resilvered, 
poor Old King Cole had to stand up all the 
time, unless he chose to sit on wet paint, which 
he didn’t. And worse than that, he had to stand 
perfectly still too, for when he tried to walk, 
he found himself stumbling over mattresses, 
crashing into glass dishes, stepping into buckets 
of water, and slipping on wet paint brushes. 

[ 71 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

My goodness, how uncomfortable he was, stand¬ 
ing there in the midst of all that higgledy-pig¬ 
gledy, while the Queen and the fiddlers three 
and all the king’s men rushed insanely around, 
never once looking at him. 

His legs soon began to ache dreadfully; his 
head buzzed with the noise. He called for his 
pipe. Nobody paid the least attention. He 
called for his bowl. It was not brought. He 
called for his fiddlers three. They leaped up to 
him, made deep hurried bows, offered their 
apologies, and were off to help the Queen of 
Hearts again, who at that moment was at the 
top of a stepladder, wrestling with a curtain 
rod. 

“ This is enough,” said Old King Cole bit¬ 
terly to himself, and, smashing through the 
glass dishes, paint buckets and wet mops on the 
floor, he bounded out of the throne room and 
through the front door. Old King Cole had run 
away from home and family. Not that the 
Queen of Hearts cared in the least. In fact, as 
she saw her liege lord departing, she was heard 
to murmur something about “ good riddance ”, 
hardly the way to speak of a king, I should 
think. Then she continued battling with that 
curtain rod with the greatest relish in the world. 

[ 72 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

There’s something about a curtain rod that 
makes women — well, anyway, the Queen of 
Hearts was certainly enjoying herself, that was 
evident. 

He ran and ran, did Old King Cole, and he 
didn’t know in the least where he was going, 
and finally, being fat, he just had to stop for 
breath. So he did. And then he saw that, al¬ 
though he had been running a long time, he 
really hadn’t run far at all, having gone in a 
circle, as people so often do when they think 
they’re going straight. 

“ Fiddlesticks,” said Old King Cole. “ I 
thought I’d be halfway to Dover by this time.” 

Dover? Dover? What was he going to 
Dover for, do you suppose? Could it be that 
Old King Cole had reached such a pitch that 
he was thinking of going away over to France 
to see the King of France for a while? I 
shouldn’t be surprised. He really was quite 
worked up. 

Well, anyway, there he stood on Pinafore 
Pike, puffing and blowing and saying “ Fiddle¬ 
sticks ”, and goodness knows what he would have 
done next if he hadn’t seen Simple Simon am¬ 
bling along the road. But he did see him, and 
Simple Simon told him the secret, and the first 
[ 73 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 


thing that old king knew, he and Simon had 
gone off in just the opposite direction from 
Dover. 

Meanwhile, however, something pretty seri¬ 
ous was happening in the palace. For just at 
the moment when everything was at its topsy- 
turviest, who should walk in on the Queen of 
Hearts but the King of France? Yes, right 
through the front door came that elegant fel¬ 
low, and there was the Queen of Hearts, dust 
cap and all, on the top step of the ladder. Was 
ever a woman so humiliated? Was ever a 
Queen caught in such a condition? The Queen 
of Hearts thought not, and as she climbed, blush¬ 
ing and confused, down that horrible ladder, 
she wished desperately to herself that she had 
never heard of house-cleaning. 

And what was her chagrin when the King of 
France told her that the very reason he had left 
France was to escape the house-cleaning in his 
own palace. And he had walked right into the 
same muss here in Pudding Lane! The King 
of France laughed heartily as he told the Queen 
of Hearts this, because he thought it was funny, 
but it wasn’t funny to the Queen of Hearts — 
no indeed — and she wrung her grimy hands in 
despair. 


[ 74 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

The news spread quickly through Pudding 
Lane that Old King Cole had slipped away, and 
that the King of France had walked in suddenly 
and caught the Queen in her dust cap. And 
you may be quite sure that the people of Pud¬ 
ding Lane soon gathered together to talk it 
over. 

“ We ought to Pay our Respects to him,” said 
the candlestick-maker. 

They all agreed that they ought. 

“ But how do you Pay Respects'? ” asked Mr. 
Horner. 

The candlestick-maker, not having the least 
idea, pretended to be too deep in thought to 
hear. 

“ It’s certain and sure the poor Queen can’t 
entertain him for long,” spoke up Mrs. Grundy, 
who had a small opinion of Her Majesty, as we 
know. 

“ She ain’t exactly the brilliant talker,” ad¬ 
mitted the candlestick-maker, who wasn’t ex¬ 
actly the brilliant talker himself, when it came 
to that. 

Then Mrs. Claus, looking quickly around, 
gave a little cry, at which everybody jumped. 

“Where are the children?” she cried. “I 
haven’t seen a child since early morn.” 

[ 75 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

Great goodness, where were the children? 
Pudding Lane had forgotten them completely 
in the excitement of house-cleaning, foreign visi¬ 
tors, and suchlike. But they were aroused to 
action now, those mothers and fathers. They 
ran around the village, calling and shouting, 
until the Queen of Hearts and her regal guest 
heard them and came down to see what the noise 
was about. They joined the search party then, 
and just as everybody had begun to think that 
the children had been swallowed by the earth, 
or eaten by bears, or something else terrible, 
they came across them all, down behind Honey¬ 
suckle Hill. And what do you suppose they 
were doing? 

They were dancing around a Maypole, a beau¬ 
tiful, flower-covered Maypole, which stood a lit¬ 
tle tipsy in the ground, it is true, but which, nev¬ 
ertheless, was one of the best Maypoles that 
Pudding Lane had ever seen. They were danc¬ 
ing and singing, every one of them, and what’s 
more, there was Old King Cole himself, between 
Mistress Mary and Polly Flinders, galloping 
around that pole as if he had never heard of 
gout. For once, Simple Simon had thought of 
something really worth while. For this, you 
see, had been his secret. He had suggested to 
[ 76 ] 



They were dancing around a Maypole , a beautiful\ 
flower-covered Maypole . Page 76. 




























MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

the children that they build their own Maypole, 
and they had done it. 

Well, how surprised the parents were, to see 
what a beautiful Maypole the children had 
made. How surprised Old King Cole was to 
see the King of France. And how surprised the 
Queen of Hearts was to find her husband there 
with the children. Indeed, everybody had 
something to be surprised about, and so, of 
course, it was a most exciting occasion. 

Then Old King Cole proposed that the moth¬ 
ers and fathers, with the King of France and the 
Queen, should join in the dance. Then the la¬ 
dies protested that they weren’t dressed fit and 
proper. Then Old King Cole said “ Nonsense ”, 
and finally it all ended up with everybody’s get¬ 
ting in, and dancing and singing, and having a 
perfectly riotous time. 

They had a Queen of the May too. Every¬ 
body thought the Queen of Hearts ought to be 
the May Queen, except the Queen of Hearts 
herself, who was so tired of being a Queen, and 
Mrs. Grundy, who wanted to be the May Queen 
herself. So Mr. Spratt, who knew what to do 
and when to do it, suggested that “ our royal 
and honored guest, the King of France, crown 
the Queen of the May, whomsoever he would.” 

[ 77 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

The King of France looked critically around 
the circle of ladies. He looked at Mrs. Grundy 
and passed her by. He looked at Humpty 
Dumpty’s mother, and that little lady thought 
she should faint from agitation. Then he looked 
at the Old Woman, at Mrs. Horner, at Mrs. 
Flinders, and passed them all by. After which, 
to everybody’s intense excitement and joy, he 
marched straight up to — Mrs. Claus, of all 
people! 

Oh, dear, what a stir that created! And can 
you imagine how Mrs. Claus herself felt at this 
honor? Can you see her blushing and bobbing 
and saying, “ Yes, Your Majesty,” two dozen 
times without stopping? Can you see her grow 
glassy-eyed with embarrassment when, a mo¬ 
ment later, the King of France laid the crown 
of roses on her topknot,— which, as she thought 
to herself bitterly, hadn’t been crimped for 
days? Can you see her sitting stiff as a ram¬ 
rod and burning with blushes, at the side of the 
resplendent King of France, who was also King 
of the May? 

Well, perhaps a May Queen should not be 
goggle-eyed and red-faced as Mrs. Claus was. 
Perhaps she should not gulp and wring her 
hands as Mrs. Claus did. Perhaps she should 
[ 78 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 

have had her hair crimped, and perhaps she 
would have been better dressed in a gown with¬ 
out those big patches under the arms. But Pud¬ 
ding Lane was well satisfied with their May 
Queen, and thought her most queenly and ele¬ 
gant. So they danced around her, singing and 
clapping, and never did a woman feel more 
proud and happy than did Mrs. Claus on that 
day. Only one person felt prouder and happier 
than she, and that was Mr. Claus, who at all 
times thought his wife a remarkable woman, but 
in this new glory considered her too wonderful 
for speech. And of course, Santa Claus and the 
twins nearly burst with pride in their mother. 

As for the real Queen, she was having a lovely 
time. It seemed so nice not to have to be regal 
for once, and she skipped and frolicked between 
Jack Spratt and Peter, Peter quite like an or¬ 
dinary woman. Peter, Peter, by the way, was 
the only person there who was not quite happy. 
For Peter’s coat never had been found in the 
frenzy of his wife’s house-cleaning, and the poor 
little man was therefore dancing there in his 
shirt sleeves, to his great mortification and 
shame. 

And when it was quite dark, and they couldn’t 
dance any more, if the Queen of Hearts, in a 
[ 79 ] 


MRS. CLAUS HAS A GREAT HONOR 


spasm of generosity, didn’t invite them all up 
to the palace for tarts and lemonade, a fine fin¬ 
ish for any May-Day party. After which the 
King of France said he thought he ought to be 
off. So he went away, and the people of Pud¬ 
ding Lane went home at last, after a happy and 
eventful day. 

And ever after that, while the mothers of Pud¬ 
ding Lane cleaned house on the first of May, the 
children and the men prepared the May-Day 
party, which turned out to be just the way to 
manage the first-of-May problem, so that every¬ 
body should be happy. So Old King Cole never 
ran away from the palace again, of course. 
And by the way, Old King Cole never did 
tell anybody that he had started out for France 
that time when he ran away, for he didn’t 
want to confess that he had gotten lost. But 
wouldn’t it have been funny if he had gotten to 
France only to find the French palace in the 
same uproar as his own? There might be a 
moral to that, something about home-keeping 
hearts, or sticking to the ship, or some such, but 
I guess we won’t bother with morals. 


[ 80 ] 



On the same stagecoach from Dover came a present 
from the King of France to Mrs. Claus . 

Page 8l. 


























VI 


THE POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 

I T was about a month after the King of 
France had been to visit Pudding Lane that 
the stagecoach from Dover brought the 
Jack of Hearts on a visit to Old King Cole and 
the Queen of Hearts. As you remember, the 
Jack had no use for Pudding Lane because it 
wasn’t Paris, and nobody quite knew, indeed, 
why he ever came to the little village which he 
held in such scorn. Mrs. Grundy said he came 
when he ran out of funds and wanted to live a 
while on his relatives. Perhaps that was merely 
Mrs. Grundy’s rather vulgar way of putting it, 
and perhaps it was true. Anyway, he came and 
upset the palace quite as much as usual with his 
French and his fine manners and his old habit 
of stealing tarts. 

But on the same stagecoach from Dover came 
a present from the King of France to Mrs. 
Claus, which was far more exciting to Pudding 
Lane than the presence of the Jack of Hearts. 
[ 81 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 

You remember, of course, what an impression 
Mrs. Claus had made on His Majesty on May 
Day, but did you ever dream he would go so far 
as to send her a gift? Well, nobody else did, 
least of all Mrs. Claus herself, who almost 
fainted when the coach drove up to her house 
and the driver climbed down and handed her a 
large square wooden box. 

“Whatever—?” shrieked Mrs. Claus ex¬ 
citedly. 

“Great snakes!” ejaculated the baker, who 
was standing by. 

“What could be in such a box?” inquired 
Mrs. Claus of the world at large. 

“ Fine French china,” guessed Mr. Claus. 

Mrs. Claus’s eyes glittered hopefully. 

“ A lamp,” suggested the candlestick-maker, 
who was there too. 

“ A dog,” burst out Santa Claus. 

Santa was right. The King’s present was a 
French poodle, as jolly a little puppy as Pud¬ 
ding Lane had ever seen. It was surely very 
kind of the King of France, and Mrs. Claus was 
deeply sensible of the honor paid her by His 
Majesty, but what did she want with a puppy 
dog, she who had six children? as she rather 
clumsily put it. Santa Claus and the twins 
[ 82 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


begged so hard to keep him, however, that Mrs. 
Claus said well, if they would feed him and 
wash him and make him mind, he might stay. 

But the Clauses could not keep the poodle, 
after all, and all because of Misery. For that 
wretched cat began to act like a feline possessed 
the minute he laid his green eyes on the new¬ 
comer, and clawed and scratched and spat at 
the poor little dog until he squealed with ter¬ 
ror. 

After a few hours of this, Mrs. Claus shut 
Misery up in the woodhouse and locked the poo¬ 
dle in the kitchen and ran over to Mrs. Pump¬ 
kin-Eater’s. 

“ But I thought Misery loved company,” 
said Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, when the story was 
finished. 

“ Not when the company’s a dog,” said Mrs. 
Claus. “ And, oh, dear, Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, 
I don’t know what we’ll do unless — unless — 
well, unless you’ll take the dog off our hands as 
a kind and neighborly act.” 

“ But, Mrs. Claus,” objected Mrs. Pumpkin- 
Eater, “ isn’t the pumpkin shell too small for a 
poodle? There is really so little room here.” 

Mrs. Claus looked around the pumpkin shell 
appraisingly. 


[ 83 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


“ It is a bit small; he’s a fat poodle.” Then 
she brightened. “ But perhaps the carpenter 
would build you a kennel in the back garden, 
Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, and you could keep the 
poodle there.” 

And so it was decided, and that very after¬ 
noon the carpenter built the kennel and the poo¬ 
dle was brought over to the Pumpkin-Eaters. 

The Pumpkin-Eaters were rather nervous 
over the prospect of keeping a poodle, but they 
did consider it an honor to have a gift that the 
King of France had sent, and so they met the 
situation unflinchingly. Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater 
fed the poodle with the rarest of titbits, beef¬ 
steak, and cream, and mashed potatoes with 
gravy, until the greedy little puppy was pant¬ 
ing and breathless. Mr. Pumpkin-Eater diddle- 
daddled around the kennel, patting the poodle 
and talking to him, and when Mrs. Pumpkin- 
Eater wasn’t looking, he brought his own pillow 
from their bed, so that the poodle should lie com¬ 
fortably in his new home. Yes, Mr. and Mrs. 
Pumpkin-Eater were just as kind as people 
could be to that poodle, and there was no earthly 
excuse for his acting the way he did. 

But it soon became apparent that he was just 
about the most troublesome poodle that ever 
[ 84 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


lived. Not that he was really bad; you could 
hardly say that of him. He just acted as if he 
didn’t have any sense. 

It began after he had recovered his breath 
from eating. Until then he was very quiet, ex¬ 
cept for little grunts, just little happy, eating 
grunts that nobody could have objected to. 
Then, when he did get his breath, up he jumped 
from his pillow, and the trouble began. 

The first thing he did was to run straight from 
the kennel into the pumpkin shell and upset 
every stick of the tiny furniture that the poor 
Pumpkin-Eaters were so proud of. I don’t think 
he meant to upset the furniture, but puppies are 
not the most graceful beasts in the world, and so 
as he waddled through the shell, which was 
pretty small for him anyway, he just naturally 
bumped into the tables and chairs and sent them 
spinning. 

How agitated Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater was then. 

“ Shush!” she called imperiously. “Shoo! 
Get out! Scat ! 55 She said everything she 
could think of, and still the puppy kept running 
around, knocking over more things, until he 
finally bumped into Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and 
knocked her over too! Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater was 
extremely small, as you know, and I suppose it 
[ 85 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 

didn’t take much to upset her. She screamed 
weakly as she hit the floor, at which Mr. Pump¬ 
kin-Eater came running in from the garden. 

“Hey ! 55 called out Mr. Pumpkin-Eater an¬ 
grily to the poodle. Then he shushed and 
shooed and scatted at the poodle, but the blessed 
dog just jumped up against him as if he had 
done something praiseworthy, and the next 
thing they all knew, Mr. Pumpkin-Eater was 
flat on his back too, bellowing for help, as the 
poodle ran excitedly about, yelping with joy. 

The neighbors came running in to help, the 
Clauses, the butcher, Mrs. Dumpty (who was 
sure somebody else must have fallen off the 
wall), the Old Woman, Mr. Horner, Mr. and 
Mrs. Flinders, all of them. Of course, they 
didn’t all go inside the shell, for there wasn’t 
room. But Mr. Horner did and gallantly picked 
up the prostrate Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater, and the 
butcher squeezed his way in and lifted Mr. 
Pumpkin-Eater to his feet. Then Mr. Pump¬ 
kin-Eater made a dive for the poodle, who by 
that time was on the bed, chewing up Mrs. 
Pumpkin-Eater’s best lace spread. The puppy, 
still thinking it all the greatest joke in the 
world, ran out of the shell into the garden and 
jumped right up into the Old Woman’s arms, 
[ 86 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


squealing as happily as if he had found an old 
friend. 

“ Well,” said the Old Woman, “ here he is.” 

“ Put him in the kennel! ” cried everybody. 

The Old Woman started for the kennel with 
the puppy wriggling delightedly in her arms — 
he still thought it all a lovely lark — and maybe 
all would have been well then, if a certain perky 
little sparrow had not chosen that particular 
moment in which to poke his nose into the 
kennel. 

He did choose that moment, however, and so 
the tragedy happened. The sparrow was half¬ 
way into the kennel, pecking at some toothsome 
crumbs, when the poodle suddenly leaped from 
the Old Woman’s arms full on the back and tail 
of the unsuspecting little bird. A cry of joy 
from the poodle, a shower of feathers, then out 
backed the poor sparrow, tottering and sur¬ 
prised, with his tail nipped off. 

How indignant Pudding Lane was at that! 
How they all scolded the poodle and sympa¬ 
thized with the sparrow. Sparrows until then 
had not had very good standing in the village, 
as perhaps they have not in yours, but this ca¬ 
lamity made the people forget their old griev¬ 
ances against the passeres (that’s the sparrow’s 
[ 87 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


dress-up name) and they could only feel sorry 
now for the particular passer , oh, very sorry. 
True, the sparrow, though he staggered uncer¬ 
tainly around and blinked in amazement, did not 
act as if he were in pain. But if you’re used to 
tails, of course you miss them, and the spar¬ 
row’s had disappeared so suddenly. 

Meanwhile, the poodle was acting just as ab¬ 
surdly as before. He was running and rolling 
and yapping in a perfectly abandoned way, and 
the more the Old Woman and the butcher and 
all the rest of them scolded him, ordered him 
down and bade him be quiet, the more he cut 
up. It was almost as if he were a mad dog, and 
yet you could see, just by looking at him, that 
he was innocent as could be, that he didn’t know 
in the least he was doing wrong. Puppies don’t 
naturally have morals, you know, and this one 
apparently hadn’t been taught any. 

Well, things finally got to such a pitch that 
Mr. Pumpkin-Eater said firmly that he wouldn’t 
have such a beast about any more, and Mrs. 
Claus declared she wouldn’t have him either, 
even if he were a royal poodle straight from the 
King of France. They decided that the only 
thing to do was to put the poodle back in the 
box and send him home to Paris. 

[ 88 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


“But the King!” remonstrated Mrs. Flin¬ 
ders. 

“ I know,” said Mrs. Claus. “ But Pudding 
Lane would be in ruins if we let this dog 
stay.” 

“ But nobody ever sends presents back to a 
king,” chimed in Mrs. Grundy. 

“ Well, I know somebody that’s a-going to,” 
said Mrs. Claus stubbornly. 

“ He might throw you in prison or some¬ 
thing,” suggested Mrs. Grundy. 

At which Mrs. Claus turned white, but stood 
her ground: she’d have no dog that threatened 
the future happiness and safety of Pudding 
Lane. 

Just then who should come dawdling down 
Pudding Lane but the Jack of Hearts, airy as 
usual? When he saw the commotion in the 
Pumpkin-Eaters’ garden, he stepped in. The 
people curtseyed obediently; they had manners, 
even though they didn’t like the Jack. Then 
they told him what was the matter. 

“ And he won’t do a thing you tell him to! ” 
concluded Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. “ I never saw 
such a disobedient dog.” 

At that, the poodle leaped up against Mrs. 
Pumpkin-Eater’s skirts. 

[ 89 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 

“ Down! ” she commanded. 

He barked joyously and leaped the higher. 

“ Hush! 55 she ordered. 

But he didn’t down and he didn’t hush. 

“ There!” exclaimed Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater 
exasperatedly to the Jack. “ You see, he 
doesn’t mind a single thing.” 

“ Of course he doesn’t,” replied the Jack of 
Hearts quietly. 

“ Of course! ” repeated Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. 
“ I don’t see any ‘ of course ’ about it.” 

“ Well,” said the Jack of Hearts with his best 
sneer, “ I suppose you don’t. But didn’t you 
say the poodle was from France? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater. 
She did wish the obnoxious fellow would go 
away and stop interfering. 

“ And haven’t you been talking to this French 
poodle in English? ” he demanded further. 

“ Yes. Well — oh, I see,” cried Mrs. Pump¬ 
kin-Eater suddenly. 

“Oh!” murmured everybody else. “Of 
course! ” 

The dog just then sprang higher against the 
wee Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and began to lick her 
face. She cast a beseeching look at the Jack. 

“ Va te coucher! ” commanded that fine fel- 
[ 90 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


low to the dog. The poodle instantly quieted 
down at Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater’s feet and began 
to whine a little. 

“ Veux-tu te take /” he demanded further, 
and the whining stopped at once. 

The Jack of Hearts looked at the abashed 
Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater and the rest of the Pud¬ 
ding Laners, who stood there stupefied. 

“ I guess you wouldn’t understand it either, 
if somebody talked to you in another language,” 
he said crushingly, and walked indolently away, 
swinging his cane. 

The people of Pudding Lane could have 
kicked themselves for their stupidity, they said. 
Of course, a French poodle straight from Paris 
could not understand English. Why had they 
supposed that he could? And they were dis¬ 
gusted still more to have been humiliated by the 
disagreeable Jack of Hearts. 

But kicking themselves wouldn’t do any good 
now. There was only one thing left to do, and 
that was to present the poodle to the Jack, 
whether they wanted to or not, for Mrs. Pump¬ 
kin-Eater couldn’t learn French for any dog. 
And if she could have, she wouldn’t have, for 
Mrs. Pumpkin-Eater had an idea that foreign 
languages were an indulgence, like mince pie at 
[ 91 ] 


POODLE THAT DIDN’T KNOW ENGLISH 


night or two dresses in one year, and she 
wouldn’t have yielded to it for anything. 

So that’s what they did. They handed the 
puppy over to the Jack of Hearts, who could 
speak to him in his native tongue and make him 
mind like an angel. 

As for the sparrow, he soon recovered; that is, 
he learned to walk as smartly and perkily as 
ever without a tail; he even learned to fly with¬ 
out it, which, as any bird will tell you, is quite 
a feat. He looked funny, with his swelled-out 
chest and airy manners and poor little chopped- 
off stumpy back view. But the Pumpkin-Eat¬ 
ers didn’t care how he looked, for he just ex¬ 
actly fitted the pumpkin shell now and at last 
they had a pet, did the Pumpkin-Eaters, just ex¬ 
actly suited to their needs. So that if you ever 
pass by the pumpkin shell and look in at the 
window, you’ll see him there. But if he turns 
his back, don’t laugh at the poor little fellow. 
It might hurt his feelings. He’s never seen his 
back and doesn’t know how funny he looks. 


[ 92 ] 


VII 


BO-PEEP FINDS OUT HOW A DUTCH UNCLE 
TALKS 

M R. BO-PEEP came home to dinner one 
hot July day to find his daughter not 
there. 

“ Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep and 
doesn’t know where to find them,” explained 
his wife. 

“ Oh, leave them alone and they’ll come home 
and bring their tails behind them,” answered 
Mr. Bo-Peep, sitting down to his dinner. 

“ That’s what I told her,” said Mrs. Bo-Peep, 
“ but you know how she is.” 

“Yes, I know how she is,” sighed Mr. Bo- 
Peep. 

And indeed he did, as did everybody else in 
Pudding Lane, for hardly a week went by in 
that village that Little Bo-Peep did not lose her 
sheep. It was really a wonder that she both¬ 
ered with sheep at all, for certainly she had 
more trouble with her flock than any other shep¬ 
herdess did in the whole world. And to-day they 
[ 93 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

were lost again, and, as usual, Little Bo-Peep 
was hunting for them. 

She walked along Pinafore Pike and passed 
the Blues’ house, where she saw Little Boy Blue 
taking his customary nap under the haystack. 
She came to the pickled pepper field where Peter 
Piper was industriously picking his peck. She 
met Old Mother Hubbard’s dog sniffing around 
a tree trunk. 

But although Little Bo-Peep saw these fa¬ 
miliar Pudding Lane scenes, not a woolly strand 
did she see of her sheep until, just as she was 
about to give up in despair, she turned a corner 
and plump! she bumped into the whole flock of 
them running down the road toward Pudding 
Lane as fast as they could run. 

But who was that driving them and scolding 
them? A strange-looking creature with great 
billowing trousers and a little blue jacket and 
the rosiest — though the crossest — face you 
ever saw. 

“ Hey! ” called Bo-Peep. 

The rosy-faced man looked up, scowling. 

“Hey!” he replied. “Stop!” he com¬ 
manded the sheep. “ Stop this minute, you 
abominable wretches, you stupid beasts, you —” 

“My goodness!” gasped Bo-Peep. “How 
[ 94 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

dare you talk to my sheep like that? How —” 

“ Look here / 5 interrupted the rosy-faced man. 
“ You be still. You don’t know who I am.” 

“ Well, you’re not very polite, whoever you 
are,” replied Bo-Peep indignantly. “ You’re 
certainly not a gentleman.” 

“ I am a gentleman! ” shouted the man. 
“ And if you were a lady, you’d know a gentle¬ 
man when you saw one. Haven’t I got on a 
gentleman’s clothes? Haven’t I got a gentle¬ 
man’s haircut? ” He bent down his head and 
swept off his hat to show her. “ Well, then, I 
am a gentleman. But don’t you wish you knew 
me?” 

“ I’m afraid I don’t,” replied Little Bo-Peep 
more softly. For after all, she thought to her¬ 
self, she need not lose her temper just because 
he did. “ No, sir, I don’t like you very much, 
really, and I’m going home now with my sheep.” 
Then she added, “ But I do thank you, sir, for 
bringing my sheep back. How did you do it? 
They’re usually very disobedient.” 

“How did I do it?” repeated the rosy- 
cheeked man. “ Why, just by talking to them 
like a Dutch Uncle. For that’s who I am, my 
fine young lady. I am the Dutch Uncle, you 
know.” 

[ 95 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

So he was the Dutch Uncle of whom Little 
Bo-Peep and all the other children of Pudding 
Lane had heard so much, the cross old fellow 
who scolded everybody he knew, even those 
people whom he loved the best. Bo-Peep had 
never seen him before, for the Dutch Uncle had 
not been to Pudding Lane since many years ago, 
before Mr. and Mrs. Bo-Peep had been married, 
’way back there when the Queen of Hearts was 
a bride and Humpty Dumpty was a baby. But 
the people of Pudding Lane, often, oh, very 
often, referred to the Dutch Uncle; and now 
here he was, and it was no wonder Bo-Peep 
stared. 

“Whose uncle are you, sir?” she asked in 
her gentlest tones. 

Questions are supposed to be rude, but if you 
ask them gently, they somehow don’t sound 
rude, Bo-Peep had found out. 

“ Everybody’s, of course! ” replied the Dutch 
Uncle. “ My goodness, you are an ignorant 
girl. Now if your parents would only put you 
in my charge —” 

Oh, dear, he was off again! But he finally 
stopped, so Bo-Peep tried another question. 

“ And where is the Dutch Aunt? ” 

“ Dutch Aunt! ” exclaimed the Dutch Uncle 
[ 96 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

scornfully. “ She asks me where the Dutch 
Aunt is! There isn’t any Dutch Aunt. Didn’t 
you know that? ” 

“ No, sir, I didn’t,” replied Little Bo-Peep. 
C£ There ought to be one, you know. Uncles al¬ 
ways do have aunts.” 

She didn’t mean that exactly, but you know 
and the Dutch Uncle knew what she meant. 
And now, strangely enough, the Dutch Uncle 
stopped frowning at her and smiled. 

“ I do indeed need a Dutch Aunt,” he agreed. 
“ In fact, that’s just what I’ve come to Pudding 
Lane for, Bo-Peep, to find a Dutch Aunt.” 

“To take her away from Pudding Lane and 
back to Dutchland?” asked Bo-Peep. 

“ Dutchland! ” laughed the Dutch Uncle. 
“ Oh, dear, Bo-Peep, you are an ignoramus.” 

“ Holland, I mean,” Little Bo-Peep corrected 
herself. 

Only she did think to herself that Dutchland 
was a better name for it, after all, than Hol¬ 
land. And she was thinking, too, what an ex¬ 
ceedingly pleasant fellow the Dutch Uncle was 
when he forgot to talk like a Dutch Uncle. 

Which is exactly what the people of Pudding 
Lane had always said about him; that if only 
he hadn’t been such an old busybody, attending 
[ 97 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

to everybody’s affairs, he would have been the 
nicest uncle in the world. 

The Dutch Uncle got a tremendous ovation 
when he and Bo-Peep got back to Pudding Lane 
with the sheep a few minutes later. At least 
“ ovation ” is what the Town Crier called it. 
Anyway, they made a big fuss over the Dutch 
Uncle, for they loved the old fellow, even if 
they did call him names, and they were glad to 
see him after all these years. 

As for the Dutch Uncle himself, he was over¬ 
joyed to see his old favorites, and he greeted 
and scolded them all in the most affectionate 
manner possible. 

“ As I live and breathe, Mrs. Dumpty! ” he 
exclaimed, catching sight of that fat little lady. 
“ How glad I am to see you. But you ought,” 
here he frowned in the midst of his rosy smile, 
“ you ought to take Humpty to London, you 
know, to consult the great doctors there.” 

“And there’s Mr. Claus! Baker, baker, why 
will you waste your talents in Pudding Lane 
when you might easily be Assistant Chief Cur¬ 
rant Bun Maker to the Lord Mayor of London 
himself ? ” 

(You would have thought he was the British 
Uncle the way he talked about London.) 

[ 98 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

“ Ah, Mrs. Grundy! 5 ’ He bowed low and 
kissed that lady’s hand. “ How many moons 
has it been since I have had this privilege? But 
that long face of yours won’t do, my dear old 
friend. Really, you ought to cheer up, you 
know.” 

He next spied a young girl. 

“ Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary! ” he cried 
delightedly. “How does your garden grow? 
You were just a baby when I saw you last. But 
you must mend your ways, Mistress Mary. Con¬ 
trary girls, you know —” 

And so he went the rounds. He chided Sim¬ 
ple Simon for not trying to improve his wits. 
He urged Little Miss Muffett to give up her diet 
and try green vegetables. He insisted that the 
Old Woman abandon her Shoe and go to live 
in a house like other respectable folk. And he 
even rebuked Old King Cole as being far too 
merry for the dignity of his position. 

Yes, he was just the same. Queer, wasn’t it? 
But then everybody is queer in one way or an¬ 
other, and the Dutch Uncle really did have the 
softest heart in the world under his little blue 
jacket, as the people of Pudding Lane had al¬ 
ways suspected and now found out that very 
day. 


[ 99 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 


For suddenly the Dutch Uncle whirled 
around and demanded: 

“ And where is pretty Dolly Daffy-Dill? ” 

“ Pretty Dolly Daffy-Dill? ” repeated every¬ 
body, and then they all looked at each other. 

Could it be possible that the Dutch Uncle be¬ 
lieved that Dolly Daffy-Dill was still the same 
girl he had known so many years ago? Did he 
not know that she had grown older, just as every¬ 
body else had? Had he not heard how crabbed 
she had become, so crabbed, indeed, that she 
wasn’t even called Dolly any more, but Cross- 
Patch, which suited her much better? 

It seemed impossible that the Dutch Uncle 
did not know all these things, but he didn’t, ap¬ 
parently, so Mr. Horner, the father of Jack, 
tried to explain. 

“ She’s older now, you understand,” he said. 
“ And we call her — Cross-Patch.” 

“ Cross-Patch, draw the latch, 

Sit by the fire and spin,” 

quoted Mrs. Grundy. 

Oh, dear, it was too bad that the Dutch Uncle 
had r to find out all this about Dolly, and they 
all felt very sympathetic. But was the Dutch 
Uncle distressed? No, indeed. 

[ 100 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

“ Of course, she’s older! ” he exclaimed. “ I 
had forgotten that, but it’s all the better. And 
you say she’s cross? Hurray, what a fine Dutch 
Aunt she’ll make! ” 

With which, to everybody’s astonishment, the 
Dutch Uncle hastened to old % Cross-Patch’s 
house, the same little house where he used to 
call on her when she was a girl and he a dash¬ 
ing young blade. 

And so his courtship commenced, the strangest 
courtship that Pudding Lane had ever seen. 
Isn’t it queer that a cranky old woman like Cross- 
Patch should have inspired the tender passion 
in the hearts of such hosts of men? First there 
was the candlestick-maker and now here was the 
Dutch Uncle. Well, that’s love, you know, and 
there’s no doing anything about it. 

But something else happened in Pudding 
Lane that quickly drove the Dutch Uncle’s love 
affair out of everybody’s thoughts. It was really 
something so terrible and so sad that nobody 
would have ever dreamed it could happen. And 
this is what it was: Bo-Peep’s sheep came home 
one day, after a long absence, and they didn’t 
have their tails behind them! 

Oh, so sad! So sad! 

And how Bo-Peep cried, how the lambs 

[ 101 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

bleated, how Mr. Bo-Peep hunted for the tails, 
how doleful Old King Cole looked, how fright¬ 
ened everybody was. But although Little Bo- 
Peep wept and Mr. Bo-Peep hunted and Old 
King Cole worried himself sick, the missing tails 
were not returned to their owners and King 
Cole finally said that everybody, every single 
person, would have to go out on a hunt for them. 
He even made a speech about it. 

“ What is a sheep without a tail? 55 he asked 
the assemblage. 

“ Nothing!” he answered himself trium¬ 
phantly, which wasn’t strictly true, although it 
made a profound impression on his hearers. 

“ Well, then, what is a whole flock of sheep 
without a tail? 55 he finished up in grand climax. 

And so, spurred on by Old King Cole’s ora¬ 
tory, all of Pudding Lane started on the hunt. 
It did seem as if they were always searching for 
something in that town. Once it was Santa 
Claus, once it was the Pied Piper, ganders, cats, 
and now it was tails. 

I said all of Pudding Lane went on the hunt, 
but I forgot the Dutch Uncle, who was sitting 
with Cross-Patch in her back garden, sipping a 
cup of tea. And he must have been talking aw¬ 
fully loud and drinking tea awfully hard, for he 
[ 102 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

didn’t seem to hear a bit of the commotion when 
the whole town departed on its quest. 

But Cross-Patch had sharp ears and she knew 
what was up, and she said to her gallant 
caller: 

“ Why don’t you help a body who’s in trouble 
instead of fiddling with a teacup? ” 

The Dutch Uncle looked at her amazed, for he 
had just been telling her what a sweet crea¬ 
ture she was and her remark sounded rather 
abrupt. 

“ What is it, my love? ” he asked. 

“ I said why don’t you go out and help a 
body? Why don’t you join in the search for the 
tails of the sheep? ” 

The Dutch Uncle jumped up, ashamed. 

“ Oh, I ought to help, I know. I am very fond 
of Little Bo-Beep and feel so sorry for her in her 
trouble.” 

“ Then go out and show your sympathy,” re¬ 
plied the Dutch Uncle’s lady love grimly. “ I’d 
go myself if I weren’t so old and crippled.” 

“ Old, love! ” repeated the Dutch Uncle play¬ 
fully. “ Crippled! ” 

“ Go on to your tails,” replied Cross-Patch 
stolidly. 

The Dutch Uncle, looking crestfallen, ceased 
[ 103 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

his gestures, picked up his hat and started for 
the gate. Indeed, he looked so wretched that 
Cross-Patch relented a bit. 

“ Look here,” she called after him. “ If you 
find the tails, Dutch Uncle, I might — in fact I 
will — consider becoming the Dutch Aunt.” 

The Dutch Uncle looked at her beaming, yet 
almost unbelieving.- 

“Wonderful woman! ” he exclaimed raptur¬ 
ously. “ Glorious —” 

“ Will you get on to those tails? ” cried Cross- 
Patch, exasperated. 

She hated foolishness, did Cross-Patch, and 
the Dutch Uncle was so full of it. She often 
wished that he would scold her as he did every¬ 
body else. Being cross herself, she would have 
enjoyed it. 

When the Dutch Uncle got into the street, he 
found that every single person was gone. All 
the houses and shops were closed. Even the 
palace at the top of the hill looked deserted. 

But the Dutch Uncle could hear a little noise 
from somewhere or other, and as he listened in¬ 
tently, he decided that it must be the bleating of 
those poor little sheep down in Bo-Peep’s 
meadow. He then went down to the meadow 
and there they were, bleating pitifully, and there 
[ 104 ] 



Look here” he said to the black sheep . “ You're 

responsible for all this ” Page lOjf. 












I 











































HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 


was Bo-Peep too, under a tree and crying as if 
her heart would break. 

She raised herself up when she heard the 
Dutch Uncle’s step and wiped her eyes. 

“ Do you hear them bleating? ” she asked him. 

“ Yes,” replied the Dutch Uncle, “ I do.” 

The Dutch Uncle then made a discovery; the 
black sheep of the flock was not bleating at all, 
but was frisking around as merrily as could be, 
watching the others with wicked glee out of the 
corner of his eye. The Dutch Uncle watched 
him a moment and then, without a word to Little 
Bo-Peep, he marched straight up to that black 
sheep, took hold of his pink ribbon collar and 
looked him sternly in the eye. The sheep 
squirmed a little and tried to brave it out, but 
the Dutch Uncle was too much for him, so he 
squirmed a great deal more and dropped his eyes 
in the most ashamed way. 

Whereupon the Dutch Uncle did give him a 
dose of his best Dutch Uncle talk — such a dose! 

“ Look here,” he said to the black sheep. 
“ You’re responsible for all this. You know ex¬ 
actly where those tails are, and you’ve known 
all along, and now right this minute you’re go¬ 
ing to take Little Bo-Peep and me and show us 
where they are. You are a wicked, wicked sheep, 
[ 105 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 


you are, but we’ve got you this time, you wretch, 
you—” Well, he couldn’t think of anything 
worse than a wretch, so he stopped with that, and 
waited for the black sheep to do something. 

And the black sheep did something, right 
enough. He turned around and walked off, the 
Dutch Uncle and Little Bo-Peep behind him, 
and he kept on walking until at last they came to 
a wood on the very edge of which stood a tree. 
And there the black sheep stopped. 

“ What’s this? ” asked the Dutch Uncle. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Little Bo-Peep. 

Then the sheep raised his eyes, the Dutch 
Uncle and Bo-Peep raised theirs, and there on a 
branch what should they see but ten little white 
tails all in a row, hanging like white flowers 
among the green leaves, with one little black one 
in the middle! 

“ Oh! ” shrieked Little Bo-Peep joyfully. 

“ Ah-ha! ” exclaimed the Dutch Uncle. 

And the next thing the tails knew, they were 
being carried back to the sheep in the meadow 
at Pudding Lane. 

Everybody was overjoyed when it was known 
that Little Bo-Peep had found her sheep’s tails, 
but of course, the next problem was to get them 
back on the sheep. The carpenter was all for 
[ 106 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

tacking them on, though he quickly took back 
his suggestion when he remembered that it was 
sheep they were talking about, not houses or 
boards. Jack-of-All-Trades offered to glue them 
neatly back in their places, and the cobbler said 
that if sewing were necessary, he would gladly 
render his services. 

The cobbler s idea was considered a good one, 
for the great London doctors were sewing people 
now, and if it were good for people, it would 
certainly do for sheep. So they called Doctor 
Foster, who had just got back from Gloucester, 
and asked his advice about the sewing. 

“ No, no, no! ” said Doctor Foster. “ Doctors 
don’t sew things on, they just sew things up. 
But if you just tie these tails to the sheep, theyTl 
grow back as nicely as you please. 5 ’ 

So that’s what they did, and the tails did grow 
back, just as he had said, as nicely as you please. 
Only one looked a little different from its old 
self, and that was the black sheep’s, which was 
rather to one side and at a rakish angle. But 
then the black sheep deserved it, for all the trou¬ 
ble he had caused. Because the Dutch Uncle 
thought that the black sheep not only knew 
where the tails were all the time, but that he 
himself made the sheep lose their tails. I don’t 
[ 107 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

see how he could have, really. I think the tails 
just dropped off. Still, the Dutch Uncle may be 
right. WeTl never know, for sheep can’t talk, 
and the black sheep wouldn’t tell if he could. 
Anyway, it all came out all right. 

All but one thing and that concerns the poor 
Dutch Uncle, who didn’t get his Cross-Patch, 
after all. For when he went back to her in high 
glee, told her about the tails, and began calling 
her high-sounding names, Cross-Patch suddenly 
became fifty times crosser than she had ever been 
before, told him she couldn’t stand his sugarish 
nonsense and left the room. 

And that was the end of the Dutch Uncle’s 
romance. All might have been different if he 
had only talked to Cross-Patch like a Dutch 
Uncle, but that’s so often the way with gentle¬ 
men in love; they become such different crea¬ 
tures. However, he did turn on Cross-Patch 
just as she was leaving the room, and then he 
certainly did talk to her like a Dutch Uncle, for 
he was very angry and disappointed. 

Too late, though. Cross-Patch drew the latch, 
sat down to spin and never for a second regretted 
her action. She was even glad the old bother 
was gone. 

Poor Dutch Uncle, having to go back to Hol- 

[ 108 ] 


HOW A DUTCH UNCLE TALKS 

land without the Dutch Aunt of his dreams. 
Everybody felt sorry for him, and especially did 
Little Bo-Peep, who had come to love him so 
much. 

It was Little Bo-Peep who walked with him 
down the road when he set out that day for Ban¬ 
bury Cross. They said good-by and shook hands. 
The Dutch Uncle had tears in his eyes and Bo- 
Peep was sniffling right out. 

But the Dutch Uncle soon came to himself. 

“ Look here, you shouldn’t have come so far 
with me. The sheep will get lost and your 
mother will be worried. Go straight home, you 
naughty child.” 

But Bo-Peep only smiled at him. 

“ You’re an old fraud,” she told the Dutch 
Uncle. 

And then it was that the Dutch Uncle knew 
that she had found him out, this Little Bo-Peep 
of Pudding Lane. Yet he wouldn’t give in, 
even then. 

“ Go straight home, I tell you! ” 

But he kissed her, and then was gone. 


[ 109 ] 


VIII 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

M RS. BLUE was busy in her kitchen one 
August morning when she heard 
a racket in the cornfield. 

“ At it again,” she murmured and ran out to 
the side fence. 

“ Little Boy Blue,” she called loudly, “ come 
blow your horn. The sheep’s in the meadow, 
the cow’s in the corn.” 

No answer from the little boy, lying under a 
near-by haystack. Mrs. Blue opened her mouth 
to call again when up popped Farmer Tom from 
behind the barn. Farmer Tom was the Blues’ 
neighbor, and it was Farmer Tom’s cornfield that 
the cow was in. 

“ Where’s the boy that looks after the sheep? ” 
demanded the farmer. 

“ He’s under the haystack fast asleep,” ad¬ 
mitted poor Mrs. Blue. 

Farmer Tom snorted. 

[ 110 ] 



What could Mrs . Blue do ? She could do nothing 
hut climb the fence, skirts and all . Page ill . 































































































4 


* 



THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 


“ Well, he must get them animals out of my 
corn,” he said. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Blue nervously, 
and then called again, “ little boy blue! ” so 
loudly that you would have thought any fellow 
might have waked up. Little Boy Blue did al¬ 
most wake up too. He grunted, stirred, rubbed 
his eyes, but then if he didn’t curl down deeper 
in the hay and go straight back to sleep. 

What could Mrs. Blue do? She could do 
nothing but climb the fence, skirts and all — 
for the gate was a long way off — and go after 
Little Boy Blue, so that’s what she did. She 
climbed the fence, marched over to the haystack 
and shook — yes, shook — her sleeping son until 
at last he was awake. Then he scuttled away 
and led the sheep and cow into the pasture 
where they belonged. 

This was the way things were always going 
with the Blues. Boy Blue was forever falling 
asleep, the cows were forever getting in the corn, 
Farmer Tom was always scolding and fussing 
and Mrs. Blue was always worrying. Of course, 
it was worse in summer, when the warm air was 
drowsy and the haystack was soft and inviting. 
But even in winter it was bad enough, for then 
Little Boy Blue went to sleep over his books, 
[ 111 ] 


i 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

over his supper, over his games. He had actu¬ 
ally been caught at it during an exciting game 
of Hide-and-Go-Seek, when he had hidden be¬ 
hind the hedge in Mistress Mary’s garden and 
then promptly gone to sleep there. 

But you cannot sleep all of the time, even if 
you’re a Little Boy Blue, and so it was that 
Little Boy Blue found that he was not sleeping 
very well of nights, because he slept all day. It 
was a dull business too, lying awake in the dead 
of the night, with nothing to see except perhaps 
a streak of moonlight or the shadow of the pear 
tree, nothing to hear except the dickery, dickery, 
dock, of the kitchen clock, nothing to do but 
wait for daylight to come. 

And so on this same night, as usual, Little 
Boy Blue lay stark awake, even starker awake 
than he sometimes was, for his naps had been 
more frequent and longer that day. It was early 
still, about eight o’clock, and although Little 
Boy Blue had been in bed only half an hour, 
it seemed to him that he had been there exactly 
one hundred years, he was so tired of it. 

He twisted and turned and rolled and kicked. 
He propped himself up on his elbows and stared 
up at the stars: “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 
how I wonder what you are,” and then he almost 
[ 112 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

did go to sleep wondering just exactly what stars 
were — fire or silver or flowers or what. Little 
Boy Blue had not studied astronomy yet. But 
just as he almost fell asleep, clink, clank came 
a noise, and he came to with a jerk. What was 
that noise? It sounded like a milk pail, clink, 
clank. He listened hard, but no further sound 
came. He squirmed and turned some more. 
Finally he sat up straight in bed. 

“ I’m going to get up,” he said to himself. 
“ Right up.” 

Which he did. He groped in the dim light for 
his clothes and put them on — his blue suit, his 
shoes and stockings, his favorite blue cap with 
the red button on top. Then he tiptoed softly 
out of his room, through the kitchen and into the 
yard. 

Oh, Little Boy Blue, what would your mother 
say if she knew you were not in bed and asleep? 
What would your father say if somebody should 
tell him that his little boy was out in the middle 
of the night like this, walking around? But 
they didn’t know it, those two good souls nod¬ 
ding by their candle in the second-best parlor, 
which is probably a good thing, as it would have 
distressed them. Not that Little Boy Blue 
meant the least harm in the world. He had just 
[ 113 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

thought he’d take “ a bit of a turn ” and try that 
way to get sleepy. He had heard the candle- 
stick-maker say once that he always took “ a bit 
of a turn ” before he went to bed, which made 
him sleep like a top. As if tops did sleep — the 
funny old candlestick-maker. 

Little Boy Blue had hardly taken three steps 
when clink, clank, his foot bumped against some¬ 
thing which made that same noise he had heard 
a few moments before in bed. He stooped down. 
It looked like a bucket, but it wasn’t one of his 
mother’s milk pails. What could it be ? He put 
his hands into it. There was something inside 
that felt gritty and sticky and damp. He looked 
closer and felt it again. It was sand. 

But what on earth was a bucket of sand doing 
on the Blues’ side stoop, and who in the world 
had left it there ? Little Boy Blue did not know. 
Perhaps his father had forgotten it, he thought. 
Perhaps Farmer Tom had put it there. He and 
Mr. Blue were always lending each other things 
— bags of gravel, baskets of chips, nails and 
bridles and chicken feed. 

Well, whatever it was, this was not the place 
for it, Little Boy Blue knew that. So he picked 
it up and carried it back to the tool house, and 
there he put it in a corner out of harm’s way, like 
[ 114 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

the careful little boy that he was. And then 
he went away to take his bit of a turn. 

Little did Boy Blue know what he had really 
done by hiding that bucket of sand, though the 
fact was that he had done something epoch-mak¬ 
ing in Pudding Lane. Epoch-making is a big 
word, but then Little Boy Blue had done a big 
thing. For whom do you suppose that sand be¬ 
longed to? 

It belonged to the Sand Man, that fellow who 
slips along by our windows at night, throws his 
handfuls of sand in our eyes and makes us feel 
heavy in our eyelids and sleepy all over. He 
had left his sand for the least little while on the 
Blues 5 side stoop, while he went up to the palace 
to put the King and Queen to sleep, and now 
Boy Blue had hidden it. Think of it! The 
Sand Man without his sand! 

Do you wonder that when he came back, he 
wrung his sandy hands and beat his breast in 
frenzied despair? Do you wonder that he trem¬ 
bled all over? Poor Sand Man! It did look bad 
for him. Never before had he failed to do his 
work. Every single night, for years and years 
and years, he had gone on his circuit from house 
to house, and put folks to sleep, first the children, 
then the grandfathers, and after that, sometimes 
[ 115 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

quite late, the mothers and fathers and big sisters 
in the parlor. 

And now on this night, his sand was gone, 
everybody would stay wide awake, and good¬ 
ness knows what angry message Old King Cole 
would send him. That merry old soul might 
even deprive him of his job, and then what would 
he do for a living, and what would the Sand 
Woman do, and all the little Sand Children? 
It was a sad thought, and the Sand Man shud¬ 
dered as he stood there in the shadow of the 
Blues’ house, wondering what to do next. 

As Little Boy Blue walked down Pudding 
Lane, he wondered why the Shoe was lighted 
up so brilliantly, and as he passed the Dumpties’ 
he thought it strange indeed that the candle in 
Humpty’s room was still burning. It was late. 
What should children be doing awake at such an 
hour? They hadn’t slept all day to make them 
wakeful, like Boy Blue himself. The Clauses’ 
house was brightly lighted too, and he could see 
the Flinderses’ fine new lamp from London 
burning gayly in Polly’s room. 

Now, of course, we know exactly what was 
happening, even though Little Boy Blue did not. 
We know and the Sand Man knew, but Little 
Boy Blue did not know, and certainly the dis- 
[ 116 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 


tracted mothers of Pudding Lane did not know 
what was the matter with their children that 
night. And how exasperated they were too, 
those mothers. 

“ What does ail you, Santa Claus ? 55 asked his 
mother of that little boy, who was sitting up in 
bed with not a sign of sleep about him. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Santa Claus, much 
puzzled himself. “ Only I just can’t sleep, and 
I don’t believe I ever will sleep again.” 

“Mercy on us!” breathed Mrs. Claus fear¬ 
fully. 

“ Humpty, darling, are you ill? ” asked Mrs. 
Dumpty anxiously. “ You’ve never been wake¬ 
ful like this before.” 

“ No, not ill, just wide awake,” answered 
Humpty. 

“ Children, will you get into your beds and 
go to sleep? ” demanded the Old Woman Who 
Lived in a Shoe, beside herself with impatience 
at all these dozens of children scampering around 
the Shoe at the impossible hour of nine o’clock. 

“ But we’re not a bit sleepy,” spoke up Judy. 

“ Not a single bit! ” echoed Polly and Jumbo 
and Jocko and all the rest. 

That was the way it was in every house in 
Pudding Lane that night. The mothers tried 
[H7] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

spanking, and it didn’t work. Spanking really 
doesn’t make you sleepy, though sometimes it 
makes you try harder to get sleepy. They tried 
bread and milk. They tried lullabies. They 
tried everything, and still the children of Pud¬ 
ding Lane were as wide awake as could be 
until finally, when they all begged their moth¬ 
ers to let them go out and play, those fran¬ 
tic women, wondering what Old King Cole 
would say to such a performance, consented. 
And with a whoop loud enough to be heard in 
Banbury Cross, the children of Pudding Lane 
rushed outdoors for a glorious romp in the moon¬ 
light. 

What a night that was! Everybody was up, 
even Humpty Dumpty, looking on from his 
window. Little Boy Blue had joined them, of 
course. Polly Flinders, Little Bo-Peep, all the 
Old Woman’s children, Jack Horner — not a 
single child in Pudding Lane was missing, for 
even that baby, The Little Girl Who Had a 
Little Curl, was brought out and dumped in the 
midst of the fun. You know her. She was only 
three, but already she was a well-known char¬ 
acter in the village. A changeable child. One 
minute she would be very good indeed, and the 
next she would be — simply horrid. But she 
[ 118 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

was very pretty, and she had a little curl right 
down in the middle of her forehead. 

Unless you have played outdoors in the moon¬ 
light yourself, you can never imagine how much 
fun it is. There’s something about it that makes 
mere playing in the daylight and sunshine seem 
very ordinary. Perhaps it’s the shadows. 
You’re always mistaking them for something 
else, which is very funny. Little Bo-Peep actu¬ 
ally tagged the shadow of the Clauses’ gate once, 
thinking it was Jumbo! Perhaps it’s the moon¬ 
light itself, thin and gleaming and rare. Per¬ 
haps it’s the jolly little stars, kicking up their 
heels there in the sky. Anyway, it’s pure de¬ 
light to be out on such a night, and the children 
of Pudding Lane thought they simply never had 
had such a good time as they were having that 
night. 

They played Tag and Blind Man’s Buff and 
Ring-Around-a-Rosy. Oh, yes, I forgot to say 
that singing on such a night seems to be music 
of a special sort. Even Simple Simon’s poor 
cracked voice did not sound bad that night as 
they sang “ Ring Around a Rosy, Pocket Full 
of Posies.” They played Drop-the-Handker- 
chief, too, which is particularly good at night, 
for the handkerchief is so hard to see. 

[119] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

Well, they played on and on, while the 
mothers looked at them round-eyed from the 
windows and wondered if their darling children 
would ever, ever, ever get sleepy and come in to 
bed like good and law-abiding citizens. They 
played on and on and on, while the Sand Man 
crouched in a corner of the Blues’ side stoop and 
pondered desperately on his fate. And; they 
might have been playing yet if the Little Girl 
with the Curl had not suddenly cut up one of 
her capers. 

But she did. She cut up a terrible caper. She 
cried and kicked and jumped up and down. She 
screamed and howled and made faces. Oh, she 
was horrid! 

At first, the children tried to pacify her by 
ordinary means. 

“ Come ride on my back, Little Girl,” invited 
Santa Claus. “ I’ll be the horse and you can be 
the rider.” 

But the Little Girl only stamped her foot at 
him. 

“ Little Girl, look here, I’ve got a top! ” called 
out Tom, Tom, the piper’s son. 

But the Little Girl only stuck out her tongue 
at him! 

“ Little Girl, look at me!” cried Jack-Be- 

[ 120 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 

Nimble, jumping over a candlestick for her bene¬ 
fit. 

But the Little Girl only lay down on the 
ground and kicked and screamed some more. 

The Little Girl’s mother came out, and the 
Little Girl’s father came out, and they spanked 
her. But even that did not do any good on this 
terrible night. 

They were all perfectly desperate. What 
could they do with such a child? The party was 
spoiled. The fun was over. The beautiful mid¬ 
summer night’s dream was broken. And all be¬ 
cause of that horrid Little Girl. 

At last, however, in the midst of her caper, 
Little Boy Blue had a sudden idea. He didn’t 
say a word to anybody, but he ran back to his 
father’s tool house, picked up the pail of sand 
and brought it to the Little Girl. And lo, when 
the Little Girl saw that bucketful of lovely sand, 
she stopped right in the middle of a howl, sat 
down and began to dig in it as hard as she could 
dig. She dug with both fists and sent the sand 
flying. She loved sand to play in, the Little 
Girl did, and Pudding Lane had so little sand, 
being far from the sea. 

The children, breathing sighs of relief, began 
to play again. 


[121] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 


But the next moment, the games and the night 
and the whole beautiful party began to seem 
rather stupid. First it was Jill who yawned. 

“ Oh, dear, I’m really getting sleepy/' she con¬ 
fessed. 

Whereupon Jack said that he was really get¬ 
ting sleepy too. Humpty Dumpty was seen nod¬ 
ding at the window. The Little Girl with the 
Curl had fallen over on her pail, fast asleep. 
Simple Simon had one eye closed. Santa Claus 
had both eyes closed. The Old Woman's chil¬ 
dren were blinking like lazy little pussy cats 
and Little Boy Blue had gone to sleep standing 
up. 

And the next thing they knew it was to-mor¬ 
row. How surprised they were to find them¬ 
selves in bed exactly as if nothing had happened. 

“ What did happen? " they asked their moth¬ 
ers. 

“Why, you just got sleepy," answered the 
mothers. 

But of course, that really wasn't it at all, and 
I think it’s funny that nobody guessed that the 
sand belonged to the Sand Man. Nobody did, 
however, and they don't know it to this day. 

And one thing you may be sure of and that is 
that the Sand Man was never so careless as to 
[ 122 ] 


THE SAND MAN’S SCARE 


leave his sand bucket around any place again. 
That night, when the children had all been car¬ 
ried in to their beds, he sneaked quietly down 
from the Blues’, snatched his precious bucket 
quickly under his arm and, after putting the 
grown-ups to sleep, ran for home. 

“ Look here,” he said to the Sand Woman, 
after he had told her his exciting story, “ I want 
you to sew a button on my jacket for me to hang 
the sand pail on, so that I shall never, never, 
never forget and leave it any place again.” 

So the Sand Woman sewed a large button on 
the Sand Man’s coat, and ever after that the 
Sand Man kept his pail right with him wherever 
he was, and never, never, never forgot and left 
it any place again. 


[ 123 ] 


IX 


WHY TAFFY THE WELSHMAN STOLE MEAT 

T AFFY the Welshman had come to Pud¬ 
ding Lane and that quiet village was in 
a turmoil. For Taffy was not only a 
Welshman but Taffy was a thief. Perhaps you 
have heard of him. He specialized in meat. 

Some thieves go in for gold watches, some deal 
in silver spoons. Taffy confined himself to meat. 
Once in a while he descended to bones, but usu¬ 
ally it was meat, here a knuckle of veal, there a 
shoulder of lamb, yonder a round of beef. If 
ever a man knew how to steal meat, Taffy was 
that man. He could nip off a roast as you or 
I couldn’t nip off a feather, airily, easily, with 
jaunty grace. He could nip it when you weren’t 
looking or when you were. He could nip ten 
pounds or one pound with equal art. A born 
genius was Taffy, and he loved his work and 
pursued it diligently. 

Thus it was that every morning Mrs. Dumpty, 
Mrs. Claus, the Old Woman Who Lived in a 
[ 124 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

Shoe, Mrs. Jack Spratt and all the other women 
of Pudding Lane would trot to the butchers and 
buy meat; every afternoon Taffy would steal it, 
and every night — no meat for supper. And the 
men were getting tired of it. Especially Jack 
Spratt. 

“ It’s all very well , 55 he said to Mrs. Spratt 
one day, “ it’s all very well for these foreigners 
to come swarming into our fair city, but I must 
have lean meat soon, or I don’t guarantee, Mrs. 
Spratt, I don’t guarantee that nothing will hap¬ 
pen.” 

Mrs. Spratt quailed. Her husband’s was a 
delicate constitution and she well knew what 
the effect would be if he were deprived of meat 
much longer. He would probably slam doors 
and kick things. He might even hurl his shoe. 
Once he had hurled his shoe when there was a 
shortage of lean meat in Pudding Lane. Awful 
to think of it, but he did do it. 

“ Yes,” repeated Jack Spratt, “ it’s all very 
well for foreign robbers to come swarming —” 

Really though, Jack Spratt was talking non¬ 
sense. In the first place, poor Taffy hadn’t 
“ swarmed ” into Pudding Lane. If there’s 
only one of you, you can’t swarm; there was only 
one of Taffy. In the second place, Jack Spratt 
[12J] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

needn’t have laid down the law like that to his 
wife. She couldn’t help it if Taffy was a thief. 
She was tired of eggs and lettuce herself, and 
thought yearningly of her own favorite fat meat. 
At night she dreamed of it, juicy, dripping 
chunks of it. 

It was like that in every house in Pudding 
Lane, the men demanding meat, the women buy¬ 
ing it, and then losing it that way. It did seem 
rather queer that the women couldn’t keep their 
meat once they had bought it, but they couldn’t. 
Even the Queen of Hearts couldn’t keep her 
meat, and the unfortunate lady had many a scene 
with Old King Cole over the disappearance of 
the royal chops. 

“ I can’t help it,” she told him, “ if your friend 
Taffy steals meat all over the place. But if I 
were the King — of course, I’m only a woman, 
a mere Queen — but if I were the King, I’d soon 
fix that fellow. I’d take it up with the Welsh 
ambassador.” Which shows how much she knew 
about diplomatic matters. And it wasn’t any 
use talking to her, for if Old King Cole had said 
there wasn’t any Welsh ambassador, the Queen 
would have demanded, “ Well, why isn’t there 
one? ” and a long argument would have ensued. 
Some women are like that. 

[ 126 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 


Only two people in Pudding Lane did not 
suffer from the ravages of the thieving Taffy. 
One was Little Miss Muffett, who was quite con¬ 
tent now, as always, with her curds and whey; 
and the other was the butcher. For the more 
meat Taffy stole, the more meat the butcher sold. 
He was doing a rushing business and he was 
very happy. Furiously he bought pigs and sheep 
and beeves at the big market in Banbury Cross, 
and brought them back on loads and droves to 
Pudding Lane. Furiously the women bought 
his meat butchered from these pigs and sheep 
and beeves. Furiously Taffy nipped the meat 
from their cupboards and cellars and shelves. 
Yes, the butcher was very happy. 

But as Jack Spratt had intimated, this state 
of affairs could not go on forever. The men 
were getting worse. They stalked savagely; 
they had glitterings in their eyes; they gathered 
in the candlestick-maker’s shop and muttered to¬ 
gether. Even that mild husband and father, 
Mr. Claus, was a changed man, and one day, as 
he eyed his wife in an odd, bloodthirsty way, 
Mrs. Claus spoke her mind. 

“ Look here, Mr. Claus,” said she, “ I’m not a 
roast of mutton, sir.” 

Mr. Claus gaped. 

[ 127 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

“ Nor am I a leg of pork/’ went on the ex¬ 
traordinary woman. 

Mr. Claus gaped wider. 

“ So you needn’t look at me like a cannibal,” 
she told him. “ I won’t be cooked and eaten, 
even by you. Pray don’t delude yourself.” 

“ My dear —” remonstrated the baker with 
a ghastly smile. 

“ No,” continued Mrs. Claus, “ nor shall you 
cast your eyes upon my children in that fashion. 
No doubt Santa Claus would make a delicious 
meal, Mr. Claus, but you shall not feast your¬ 
self upon him. Yes, and the twins would prob¬ 
ably be as tender flesh as a man could taste, but 
you are not the man who will taste it. I am sur¬ 
prised at you, Mr. Claus, that you should turn 
heathen like this and want to eat your family 
alive; I really am.” 

Oh, what a woman she was! Had Mr. Claus 
mentioned eating his family? Had he even 
thought of such an atrocious thing? Yet on and 
on rattled Mrs. Claus, and she probably would 
have been rattling on yet, if just then the Town 
Crier had not come along, ringing his bell and 
shouting something. What was he saying? 

cc Make your sandwiches! Bake your cakes! 
To-morrow is picnic day! ” 

[ 128 ] 



The next morning at nine o'clock the whole town 
started out for Honeysuckle HilL Page I2Q . 



























WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

Picnic day, oh, yes, so it was. To-morrow was 
picnic day; Mrs. Claus had quite forgotten it. 

Now the picnic that the Town Crier was call¬ 
ing was the picnic that Pudding Lane had been 
talking about all summer, but never, until now, 
had really got around to. It was a bit late for 
picnics, being September, but you have to have 
at least one picnic a year, and if it won’t come 
off early in the season, it just has to come off 
late, that’s all. And to-morrow, finally, Pud¬ 
ding Lane’s annual picnic was to come off. 

But how can you have a picnic without ham? 
Mrs. Claus wanted to know. And what is a pic¬ 
nic without cold tongue? demanded Mrs. 
Dumpty. Nevertheless, the women went ahead 
making their sandwiches just the same, cheese 
sandwiches and currant jam sandwiches, and 
sandwiches of watercress. They baked their 
cakes and stuffed their eggs and fished out their 
pickles and collected their bananas and packed 
their baskets with all these things. And the next 
morning at nine o’clock the whole town started 
out for Honeysuckle Hill. 

The picnic went off with a bang, despite the 
meat crisis. Indeed, so successful an affair was 
that picnic that Old King Cole felt moved to 
make a formal statement, and he did so, saying 
[ 129 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

that it was very gratifying to him as king for a 
picnic to attain such heights as this. Although 
just why he should have been gratified, I don’t 
know, since all he did for the picnic was to come 
to it and eat at it. Still, his statement made the 
women very happy; it’s a great thing to please 
a king. 

And so everything was going as smoothly as 
you please — until something happened to Miss 
Muffett. 

It was this way. Little Miss Muffett sat on 
a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. She was 
talking and smiling and having a lovely time 
when along came a spider and sat down beside 
her. Oh, dear, how she jumped and screamed. 
For if there was anything in the world that Little 
Miss Muffett was afraid of, it was a spider. 
And yet spiders were always pursuing her. 
Every time that girl sat down on a tuffet to 
enjoy her repast of curds and whey, along would 
come a spider and sit down beside her, just as 
that spider did to-day. It may be that spiders 
are particularly fond of curds and whey, or per¬ 
haps Miss Muffett herself had a fatal fascina¬ 
tion for spiders. Anyway, wherever she went 
she was pursued by spiders, an unhappy fortune, 
surely, for a little girl as timid as Miss Muffett. 

[ 130 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

To-day, however, the courtly Mr. Horner, 
always the man to assist a lady in distress, rose 
up heroically and chased the spider off. At 
least, he thought he chased the spider off, and 
everybody else, including Miss Muffett, thought 
so too, when suddenly the spider appeared again 
beside Miss Muffett and this time frightened 
Miss Muffett away. 

One look at the hideous creature sitting there 
so calmly beside her, and overboard went the 
bowl of curds and whey, up flew Miss Muffett 
shrieking, and away she was gone, down Pinafore 
Pike in a cloud of dust. 

Mr. Horner, the butcher, the baker, the candle- 
stick-maker and all the other men let out great 
roars, the women screamed, the children cried. 
What a scene, where all had been sweet peace 
before. And then, away leaped Mr. Horner 
down the road after Miss Muffett, away leaped 
Mr. Spratt after him, and in another moment 
every man, woman and child in Pudding Lane 
was tearing madly down Pinafore Pike behind 
the flying skirts and scampering feet of Little 
Miss Muffett. 

And the spider? Well, the spider with one 
look at the empty havoc around him, legged it 
off to Mrs. Spider and the children, sighing as 
[ 131 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

he went. It was too bad, he was thinking to 
himself. He adored Little Miss Muffett with 
all the fervor of his spiderish heart, yet every 
time he went near her, she squealed and pulled 
up her skirt and ran away from him. 

Perhaps she didn’t like him, he thought. Oh, 
dear, it’s a hard world for spiders. Nobody 
really likes them, even when they are as faith¬ 
ful and devoted as this old fellow was. Well, 
Mrs. Spider liked him anyway, he reflected, and 
the spider children liked him too. Home was 
the place for spiders, so home he would go and 
there in the bosom of his family console himself 
as best he could. 

For ten good minutes the people of Pudding 
Lane kept their furious pace down Pinafore 
Pike. They panted and heaved and got red in 
the face, especially Mrs. Dumpty; their knees 
wobbled and waggled, especially the candle¬ 
stick-maker’s; their tongues hung out, particu¬ 
larly Simple Simon’s; their arms flapped, Mr. 
Claus’s most of all. But still they kept on. 

Old King Cole lost his best ruby crown and 
never looked back after it. Polly Flinders 
stubbed her pretty toes and bore the pain un¬ 
flinchingly. Mrs. Claus’s back hair went stream¬ 
ing in the wind, and she didn’t even know it. 

[ 132 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

What they were running for, I don’t know, 
and they didn’t know themselves, I’m afraid. 
Why they didn’t stop, I can’t say. But they 
didn’t, until they turned the corner toward Ban¬ 
bury Cross and there they did stop, suddenly and 
stock-still. 

And it was no wonder they stopped, for the 
most astonishing sight confronted them. In¬ 
deed, it was so astonishing they couldn’t believe 
they were seeing aright. It didn’t seem possible 
that they could be seeing hundreds of cats and 
hundreds of dogs like that. 

For that’s just what they saw: hundreds of 
cats and hundreds of dogs, all there together, 
with hundreds of bones and hundreds of chunks 
of meat. And in the midst of that mass of fur 
and sharp eyes and wagging tails and crunch¬ 
ing jaws stood Taffy the Welshman, smiling 
happily at the scene. 

The people of Pudding Lane blinked; they 
rubbed their eyes. Surely something was the 
matter with their eyesight. But Taffy himself 
looked natural enough, and his voice when he 
spoke, sounded natural too. Taffy was speak¬ 
ing; he addressed himself, very properly, to Old 
King Cole. 

“ Welcome, sir,” said he graciously. “Wel- 
[ 133 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 


come to Your Majesty, welcome to the Queen of 
Hearts, and heartiest greetings to all your 
people here/’ 

But Old King Cole couldn’t answer, for star¬ 
ing at the cats and dogs. 

“ I knew you would come some day,” went on 
Taffy smoothly, “ and now — here you are. We 
welcome you, sir, cats, dogs and Taffy him¬ 
self.” 

No answer from Old King Cole, glaring an¬ 
grily now at the cats and dogs. 

“ You must understand, sir,” began Taffy. 

“ But that’s just it,” burst out Old King Cole, 
“ I don’t understand at all. I tell you, Welsh¬ 
man, this is a serious thing. You break the law, 
you defy punishment, you steal meat from my 
people day in and day out, and now I find you 
here, consorting with hundreds of dogs and hun¬ 
dreds of cats on the public highway. Can it be, 
sir, that you have robbed us of beef and mutton 
only to feed these beasts ? ” 

“ That is the truth, Your Majesty,” answered 
Taffy softly. “ I spend my life stealing meat 
for these poor creatures. Is it so wong of 
me?” 

“ Wrong? Of course it’s wrong,” thundered 
Old King Cole. “ Don’t you know wrong from 
[ 134 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 


right, Welshman? Didn’t your mother teach 
you that it was wrong to steal? ” 

<c Ah,” replied Taffy, “but you don’t know 
about these cats and dogs, King Cole. These 
are special cats and dogs, sir.” 

“ Special cats and dogs? ” 

“Yes, sir, stray cats from London and Ban¬ 
bury Cross, the loneliest cats in the world; dogs 
without owners, the most miserable dogs there 
ever were. Oh, you should have seen them when 
they first came to me. They would have broken 
your heart. Seedy, dingy, scrawny, all of them, 
sad-eyed and starving.” 

“ Starving? ” repeated Old King Cole in¬ 
credulously. 

“ Starving,” whispered everybody else, fright¬ 
ened. 

“ Starving,” said Taffy again. “ That’s why 
it takes so much meat now, King Cole. They eat 
all the time, sir. You can see how they’re eating 
now. I don’t suppose they ever will get really 
filled up. They’ve been at it for days, yes, and 
for nights too.” 

“ They eat all night too? ” asked King Cole. 

“ All night long and all day long and never 
stop except for the briefest of naps,” Taffy 
told him. “ You see, there’s no joke about this, 
[ 135 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

King Cole. These are really hungry animals.” 

It was easy to see that Taffy was right, for 
as the people of Pudding Lane looked at the ani¬ 
mals, not one cat raised an eye at them, or not 
one dog, but lickety-lick, crunchety-crunch, they 
kept on eating, eating, eating. 

It was an odd sight, all those gray and black 
and brown furry bodies, all those tails in the air, 
all those clamping jaws, and not one sound but 
lickety-lick, crunchety-crunch. It was a sad 
sight too, for the people of Pudding Lane had 
never known that animals could be as hungry as 
that. 

And so they nearly turned themselves inside 
out in their generosity, those kind-hearted citi¬ 
zens of Pudding Lane. Mr. Spratt declared 
rashly that he didn’t care if he never saw a piece 
of lean meat again; Mr. Claus magnificently 
offered to abstain from beef the rest of his life; 
and Old King Cole ordered the Queen of Hearts 
to see that eggs appeared thereafter on the royal 
breakfast table, instead of the usual chops. 

Taffy, however, wouldn’t listen to these sacri¬ 
fices. He was about to move on anyway, he 
said. 

“ I’m going to Hamelin next and after that, 
who knows, I may even go to France and steal 
[ 136 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

some meat from the French awhile. The cats 
and dogs have to be fed, but of course I can’t de¬ 
prive you good people of your proteins for¬ 
ever.” 

The good people didn’t know what proteins 
were, but they vowed again that these poor crea¬ 
tures could have Pudding Lane’s meat as long 
as Pudding Lane had any meat, such a pitch had 
their ecstasy reached. 

But no, Taffy insisted that they had suffered 
enough, and that he must go. And before they 
knew it, he was gone, followed by his winding 
procession of cats and dogs. 

The funny part about it was that the people 
of Pudding Lane were actually sorry to see him 
go. They had forgotten he was a thief, you see; 
they had forgotten their recent anger and annoy¬ 
ance against him. They had forgotten every¬ 
thing except that Taffy the Welshman was a 
man who was kind to animals, a man who lived 
and plied his trade for cats and dogs alone. And 
this fact was so important that they had forgot¬ 
ten the picnic too; they had even forgotten the 
spider. 

And so those very people who had called 
Taffy the worst names only that same morning 
now watched his departing figure down the road 
[ 137 ] 


WHY TAFFY STOLE MEAT 

and called out, “ Good-by, Taffy, good-by. 
Good luck, good luck.” 

Fancy wishing a thief good luck! It doesn’t 
seem respectable, but that’s what they did. 

And as for Taffy, he did have good luck. He 
went on his way ever after that, stealing meat, 
feeding the cats and dogs and having a lovely 
time. For Taffy enjoyed the stealing part quite 
as much as the feeding part, if the truth must 
be known. It’s deplorable. People oughtn’t 
to enjoy stealing, but Taffy did enjoy it, and 
there’s nothing we can do about it. 

Perhaps some day he’ll reform and be an hon¬ 
est man. Yet if he did, the cats and dogs might 
have a hard time of it, so we’d better let him 
alone, I guess. If we must have thieves in the 
world, Taffy’s the very sort to have. 


[138] 


X 


THE CROOKED MAN GETS A BRAND-NEW 
REPUTATION 

T HE Crooked Man had invited Santa 
Claus to visit him and the Clauses were 
sitting at the kitchen table trying to de¬ 
cide about it. 

“ I can’t think why he should have asked Santa 
to his house,” said Mrs. Claus. She looked down 
at the letter in her hand, which was, of course, 
written in extremely crooked characters on a 
funny little crooked piece of paper. 

“ Perhaps he’s heard about the toys and wants 
Santa Claus to make some for the crooked chil¬ 
dren next Christmas,” suggested Mr. Claus. 

“ The crooked children! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Claus. “ You ought to know by this time, Mr. 
Claus, that the Crooked Man is a bachelor.” 

“Is he?” asked Mr. Claus. “Dear me. 
Then who lives with him on the Crooked Mile? ” 
“ He bought a crooked cat which caught a 
crooked mouse, and they all live together in a 
little crooked house,” explained his wife. 

[ 139 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

“ Oh, I see,” said the baker. But he didn’t 
see. He simply couldn’t imagine a crooked man 
and a crooked cat and a crooked mouse all living 
together in a little crooked house. It sounded 
like a bad dream to Mr. Claus, not like real life. 
In real life, men and cats and mice are straight. 

“ I suppose it will be all right for Santa Claus 
to go,” Mrs. Claus was saying. 

“ I suppose so,” assented her husband. 

“ Nobody ever did visit him, though.” 

“ No,” said Mr. Claus, “ the Crooked Man 
doesn’t stand very well among the best people, 
I must admit.” 

“ Well, do you suppose,” Mrs. Claus stopped, 
reddening. “ Could it be, baker, that the 
Crooked Man’s morals are crooked, too? ” 

The baker’s face fell. Morals. He hadn’t 
thought of them. But naturally, the morals of 
a crooked man would be crooked, wouldn’t they? 

So he said to Mrs. Claus, “ Why, yes, certainly 
his morals would be crooked. Santa Claus must 
not accept this invitation to visit the Crooked 
Man. In fact, Mrs. Claus, I forbid it,” he fin¬ 
ished up pompously, just as if he, a sage man, 
had thought up the morals himself. 

Santa Claus, who was sitting at the table too, 
didn’t quite understand. 

[ 140 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


“ What are morals? ” he asked his mother. 

“ Morals?” replied Mrs. Claus. “ Why, 
washing your face every morning is morals, 
and telling the truth, and going to bed at 
eight o’clock, and minding your parents, and 
saving your pennies — all those are morals, 
Santa.” 

“ Do you have to have them? ” asked Santa. 
They sounded very uninteresting. He could 
think of lots of people who were most amusing 
and lovable, though they didn’t do all those 
things: the candlestick-maker, for instance, who 
didn’t wash very often; and Piggy Peddler who 
stayed up till all hours; and Simple Simon, who 
didn’t ever save his pennies, but squandered 
them prodigally on horehound lozenges, his fa¬ 
vorite confection. 

“ Have to have them? ” repeated Mrs. Claus, 
shocked. “ Well, I guess you do, Santa Claus. 
If you don’t have morals, you don’t get very far 
in this world, sir. Morals make the world go 
’round, don’t they, Mr. Claus? ” 

Mr. Claus, thus appealed to, looked dubious. 

“ I thought it was love that made the world 
go ’round,” he ventured. 

“ Well, love is morals,” asserted Mrs. Claus. 
You can’t catch that woman very often. 

[ 141 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


The subject was getting too deep, however, 
and she hastily changed it. 

“ IT1 tell you,” she said. “ Instead of visit¬ 
ing the Crooked Man, Santa Claus can go to the 
Gingerbread Fair.” 

At which suggestion Santa Claus forgot mor¬ 
als and love and the Crooked Man and every¬ 
thing else, so thrilled was he over the Ginger¬ 
bread Fair. 

The Gingerbread Fair was the great celebra¬ 
tion which was held at Pye Corner every year. 
It was a magnificent affair, of that Pudding Lane 
was certain, although only Mr. Claus and King 
Cole had ever gone so far as to attend it. Mr. 
Claus went on business, of course, and Old King 
Cole went for pleasure. 

And now Santa Claus was going. What an 
experience for a little boy only nine years old! 
Why, most of the grown-ups of Pudding Lane 
lived and died without going to it. Even Mr. 
Flinders, the wealthy, had not permitted himself 
that luxury, though it was said that he was plan¬ 
ning to take Mrs. Flinders to the Gingerbread 
Fair on their twentieth wedding anniversary. 

Pye Corner was so very far off, you see. It 
was farther than Banbury Cross, farther than 
Hamelin, almost as far as London. You went 
[ 142 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

down Raspberry Road, along the Crooked Mile, 
across Minnow Creek, up Rocking-horse Row, 
and there, just before you got to London Bridge, 
was Pye Corner. It took almost a day to get 
there by foot; it took half a day to get there by 
coach. No wonder the citizens of Pudding Lane 
had never traveled so far. 

It was decided that Judy-Who-Lived-in-a- 
Shoe should accompany Santa Claus on his trip 
to Pye Corner, for Santa Claus could hardly bear 
to do anything without his favorite little friend, 
and to do such a wonderful thing without her 
was unthinkable. 

Mr. Claus was to take Santa and Judy to the 
Gingerbread Fair, but Mr. Claus didn’t take 
them; he took the mumps instead. Where he 
took them from was not known, for the Claus 
children had had the mumps long before, but 
where he took them at was quite clear. His poor 
jaws swelled up like balloons, his face ached 
worse than he had ever supposed a mere face 
could ache, and on the very day of the Ginger¬ 
bread Fair, Mr. Claus lay in his bed, moaning, 
without a thought of gingerbread. 

Poor Mr. Claus, with those aching balloons 
where his face used to be. Poor Santa, with¬ 
out any father to take him to the Gingerbread 
[ 143 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

Fair. Poor Judy, all dressed up and waiting in 
the Shoe for a Mr. Claus that would never come. 

Mrs. Claus, however, was not the woman to 
let plans slip simply because her spouse had 
chosen this unlucky moment in which to take on 
a distressing malady. She would never get to 
the Gingerbread Fair herself, probably, but she 
was determined that Santa should go. So what 
did she do but bustle down to the Town Crier’s 
and beg him to take the children and the pies to 
the Gingerbread Fair? Not that it took much 
begging. The Town Crier had his hat on his 
head before she had finished her first sentence, 
and before she had started her second, he was 
halfway down Pudding Lane toward the baker’s 
shop. 

So it was the old Town Crier instead of Mr. 
Claus who climbed into the stagecoach ten min¬ 
utes later, with Santa and Judy in tow, and a 
great basket of Mrs. Claus’s pies on his arm. 
Into the coach they got and away they went, 
Santa Claus and Judy and the Town Crier and 
the pies. They bowled along Raspberry Road, 
they bumped along the Crooked Mile, they 
forded Minnow Creek, they rolled along Rock¬ 
ing-horse Row, and they swung into Pye Corner, 
that great metropolis, at exactly twelve o’clock. 
[ 144 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


“We have arrived / 5 announced the Town 
Crier sonorously. The Town Crier never said 
things; he always announced them. Even when 
he uttered a mere “ Good morning 55 , he rolled it 
out like a piece of news, sang it, cried it. 

But Santa Claus and Judy knew they had ar¬ 
rived without his telling them. They knew it by 
the sound of a fife and drums; they knew it by 
the sight of a dozen merry-go-rounds, of Punch 
and Judy shows, of brightly colored stalls, of 
children, children, everywhere; and most of all, 
they knew it by the mountains of gingerbread 
pigs that were piled up as high and as far as they 
could see. 

“Oh, Judy! 55 whispered Santa Claus, press¬ 
ing her hand fervently. 

Judy nodded blissfully. 

“ I know , 55 she answered. “ But come on. 
Let’s hurry. Oh, it’s a lovely Gingerbread Fair, 
Santa Claus . 55 

And it was a lovely Gingerbread Fair, quite 
the loveliest one Pye Corner had ever had. And 
such a time as Santa and Judy had that whole 
long, sunny afternoon, while the Town Crier at 
his stall announced Mrs. Claus’s pies and made 
change, incorrectly, for the buyers who ate Mrs. 
Claus’s pies. 


[ 145 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


The first thing to do was to buy their ginger¬ 
bread pigs, those brown crusty beasts with 
curled tails and sprouting horns (the gingerbread 
species have horns if other pigs do not), and each 
pig bearing the name of its owner in sticky pink- 
and-white icing. There on her pig you could 
read Judy’s name, plain as day, J-u-d-y, and 
there on Santa’s pig blazed forth his name too, 
S-a-n-t-a. The man did it with a little squeezer 
while you waited. 

You picked the pig, you told your name, you 
paid your penny, and the pig was yours miracu¬ 
lously. 

Some of the pigs had freckles, candy ones, but 
the freckled pigs cost two pennies, and a plain 
pig does very well if your pennies are lim¬ 
ited, as Santa’s and Judy’s were. There was the 
merry-go-round yet to be reckoned with, and the 
circus, and the Punch and Judy — oh, lots of 
things. 

The merry-go-round came next. Judy rode 
a wild bull, a creature with snorting nostrils, 
angry red eyes and a lolling tongue; Santa Claus 
strode a Mexican pony whose long tail stuck out 
straight behind him. They had just mounted 
when the music commenced, a tune that wheezed 
from a bronchial music box in the middle some- 
[ 146 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

where; the platform began to move slowly, the 
bull and the pony started to rock. 

Faster went the music, faster went the plat¬ 
form, faster rocked the pony and the bull. 
Judy’s fat little legs clung frantically; Santa 
Claus gripped tight with his fists. The world 
spun around them, a flying haze of faces and col¬ 
ors and shapes. On and on and on they went, 
whirling, rocking, dipping, swaying, plunging. 

When it was over and they stood dazed on the 
ground again, Judy gulped, then turned to 
Santa. 

“ But what makes the merry go ’round, 
Santa?” she asked. 

Santa Claus didn’t know exactly. In fact, he 
didn’t know at all. But that only made it better. 
If you don’t know precisely how wonderful 
things happen, it seems to make them more won¬ 
derful, somehow. 

In the circus, they saw an elephant that 
waltzed and a clown who was fearfully funny 
because his coat tails were forever getting afire. 
In the Punch and Judy show there were six 
Punches and five Judys. Think of it! At the 
candy stall, Judy and Santa bought taffy that 
was spun off a wheel like wool. They shot guns 
and threw rings at bottles and bowled at nine- 
[ 147 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


pins. And then, when they had spent every sin¬ 
gle penny they had, they went back to get the 
Town Crier — and he wasn’t there. The stall 
was deserted, the pies were gone, and so, evi¬ 
dently, was the Town Crier. 

They looked all over the whole Gingerbread 
Fair, but no Town Crier was to be found. 
Where he had gone, nobody could say, until an 
old apple woman in the next stall, who had 
known it all along, mumbled that he had picked 
up his traps and gone home by the five-o’clock 
stage. 

“ Gone home ! 55 ejaculated Judy. 

She and Santa looked at each other. 

“ He does forget things, you know,” Santa re¬ 
minded Judy. 

“ But he wouldn’t forget us,” Judy said. 

“ He did, though,” put in the old apple 
woman. Then she softened. <c Look here, you 
childer,” she said, “ it’s yet light. Best hurry 
home afore dark. Your mothers will be worried- 
like.” 

“ But it’s too far to walk before dark,” said 
Santa Claus. “ We live ’way off in Pudding 
Lane.” 

The apple woman considered them a moment. 
Then she spoke. 


[ 148 ] 



“ But it's too far to walk before dark ” said Santa 
Claus . “We live ’ way off in Pudding Lane.” 
Page 148. 




























CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


“ Til give yer a lift. Nobody’s buying apples, 
anyway,” she said savagely. 

She did give them a lift, if you can call it a 
lift, that short ride she gave them in her wheel¬ 
barrow on top of apples. Still, even if Judy 
did keep tumbling off like a very apple herself, 
even if Santa Claus did ache all over from sitting 
on the knobby things, it was better than nothing, 
the apple woman’s lift. And when she dumped 
them in front of her cottage on Rocking-horse 
Row with a hoarse “ Good night to yer ”, Judy 
and Santa thanked her heartily. 

Their thanks were hearty, though their hearts 
were rather faint. It did seem forlorn to be there 
alone on Rocking-horse Row, so far from home 
at such an hour. It was now nearly seven, and 
the sun was getting ready for bed behind the 
hill. 

But Santa and Judy were brave children. 
Judy didn’t cry and Santa didn’t flinch. They 
simply picked up their tired feet and went on. 
They weren’t really lost, you see, because they 
knew the way. Only it was such a long way; 
that was the trouble. 

Well, they walked and walked, and finally 
they came to Minnow Creek, several inches deep 
and at least four feet wide. Minnow Creek was 
[ 149 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


fun, though, because they took off their shoes and 
stockings and waded across it. They wiped 
their feet on Judy’s petticoat, put on their shoes 
and stockings and approached the Crooked Mile. 
That indeed looked bad. It was such a crooked 
mile, twisting and curving like dozens of horse¬ 
shoes. People always got lost on it. And now, 
to make it worse, it was almost dark. In another 
moment, it would be pitchy. Then what would 
they do ? 

The darkness plumped down on them at last. 
Santa Claus could see nothing but a few feeble 
stars overhead; Judy could not see a foot ahead 
of her. Hands clasped, they walked on, fright¬ 
ened and quiet, hardly daring to whisper. 

Then, suddenly, a yellow light flashed up 
ahead of them. 

“ Firefly , 55 said Judy. 

“ Lantern , 55 said Santa. 

But it wasn’t a firefly, it wasn’t a lantern; it 
was a lamp in a house. As they got closer, they 
talked about the house, whose it was and whether 
they should knock on the door or not. Judy was 
afraid it might be a witch who lived there, but 
Santa Claus pooh-pooh’ed that. 

“ You know there aren’t any witches except 
in stories,” he said. 


[ 150 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

But this may be a story,” was Judy’s answer. 

“ You only read stories.” 

“ You could be a story as well as read it,” as¬ 
serted Judy. 

Santa didn’t understand that, so he made no 
answer, but marched straight up to the door 
and knocked. Witch or no witch, he was going 
to ask for help. 

The man that came to the door looked some¬ 
thing like a witch, to be sure, gnarled and twisted 
as he was, with a long irregular nose, and knot¬ 
ted, hunched-up body. He spoke pleasantly 
enough, however. 

“ Good evening,” said he. “ Why, bless my 
soul, it’s children.” 

“ Please, sir,” spoke Santa Claus courage¬ 
ously, “ it’s Judy and Santa Claus of Pudding 
Lane.” 

“ You don’t tell me,” exclaimed the gnarled 
man. “ Why, come in, Judy and Santa Claus of 
Pudding Lane.” 

He held the door open so that the yellow light 
streamed out of the little house. The children 
could see the house more plainly now. It was an 
odd-looking house, leaning every which way, 
like a house in a puzzle. Its door sagged at a 
dizzy angle; its windows were put in aslant, 
[ 151 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

Its very chimneys were askew on top of its zig¬ 
zag roof. 

Wondering, the children followed the 
hunched-up man into his crazy house. How 
queer it was inside too. The fireplace seemed to 
stand on its ear; the table supported itself on one 
leg; the lamp was upside down. And there, be¬ 
side the fire, lay a cat such as had never been 
seen before, a cat all angles and points, between 
his paws a mouse whose ears were crisscross, 
whose tail was curly like a corkscrew. . . . Oh, 
now Santa Claus knew. 

This was the Crooked Man, and here was the 
crooked cat who caught a crooked mouse and 
they all lived together in this little crooked 
house. 

Santa Claus had guessed the truth. When he 
asked the man timidly if he really were the 
Crooked Man, his host gave a pleasant, crooked 
smile and jerked his crooked head in assent. 

“ I am that / 5 he replied. “ And I 5 ve wanted 
to see you, oh, so much, Santa Claus, because 
you’re an understanding fellow, even if you are 
only nine, and I thought — 55 

“ You thought — 55 prompted Santa. 

“ Well, I thought — 55 the Crooked Man 
seemed rather embarrassed “ — I thought that 
[ 152 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 

maybe if you knew me and liked me, just a little, 
of course — that maybe —•” 

“ That maybe everybody else would like you 
too, and not be afraid of you any more?” fin¬ 
ished up Santa for him. 

The Crooked Man nodded vigorously, with 
an eager look in his eyes. 

“ Why, of course they will,” said Santa Claus. 
“ I do like you, Crooked Man. You’re very kind 
and agreeable, and when I tell my friends in 
Pudding Lane just how nice you are, I’m sure 
you’ll be very popular there. I really am sure 
of that, sir.” 

The Crooked Man blinked at this, trying to 
keep back some grateful tears that wouldn’t be 
kept, however, but pursued a crooked course 
down his cheeks. 

“ It’s rather lonely being crooked, I suppose,” 
said Judy, trying to be tactful. 

“ It is,” replied the Crooked Man huskily. 
“ It isn’t being crooked that’s so bad; it’s just 
that nobody else is crooked, you see.” 

“Yes, I see,” said Judy soberly. “It’s like 
spelling. If nobody else knew how, you 
wouldn’t have to learn, but they do, so you do,” 
she ended up rather incoherently. 

“ Only I can’t help being crooked, no matter 
[ 153 ] 


CROOKED MAN GETS A REPUTATION 


how hard I try , 55 said the man, “ and you can 
learn spelling . 55 

“ Can you ? 55 thought Judy. Privately, she 
thought she would never learn spelling any more 
than the Crooked Man would ever straighten 
out. 

Well, that was the way Pudding Lane dis¬ 
covered what a nice chap the Crooked Man was, 
after all. For, of course, he took the children 
home in his cart as fast as he could, when they 
told him their story, took them home to their 
mothers, and was the object of much praise and 
admiration from all of Pudding Lane. Espe¬ 
cially did the Town Crier praise and admire 
him. 

“ I don’t see how you remembered to bring 
’em , 55 he said, marveling. ££ I forgot ’em clean as 
a whistle. Had a feeling I had left something 
behind, but couldn’t remember what it was. 
You must have an excellent memory,” he went 
on. “Perhaps crooked memories are better 
than straight ones.” 

“ Perhaps,” agreed the Crooked Man, smiling 
crookedly. 


[ 154 ] 


XI 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 



HE Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 


was busy making broth one afternoon 


when she looked out through the lowest 
buttonhole of her home and spied Mrs. Dumpty 
coming up the walk. 

“Why, Mrs. Dumpty, this is a surprise!” 
cried the Old Woman. “ I’m so glad to see you. 
Do come right in.” 

Mrs. Dumpty could not muster a smile in an¬ 
swer to the Old Woman’s cordial greeting. She 
was a jolly little pudding of a lady with a round 
face and no waistline whatever, but to-day her 
mouth drooped at the corners and she looked very 
worried, as indeed she had looked all these 
weeks of Humpty’s confinement. “ I just 
thought I’d run over a while,” she said to the 
Old Woman. “ Humpty’s asleep.” 

“Of course!” exclaimed the Old Woman 
Who Lived in a Shoe delightedly. “ I’m so glad 
you did, Mrs. Dumpty. Now come right in.” 


[ 155 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

Mrs. Dumpty sighed heavily. She was very 
fond of the Old Woman, but it was an ordeal 
to climb into that Shoe every time she wanted 
to call, and she had always said she didn’t know 
why in the world the Old Woman didn’t call 
Jack-of-all-Trades and let him build a few steps 
up to the Shoe. However, the Old Woman was 
queer about her home, and so now Mrs. Dumpty 
bravely lifted one fat little foot for the climb, 
and pretty soon, panting and pink, she had 
scrambled into the Shoe. 

“ And how is Humpty? ” inquired the Old 
Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, as she hastened 
to put the kettle, on. 

“ He will never be any better,” answered 
Mrs. Dumpty sadly. “ He will never walk an¬ 
other step. Oh, Old Woman, if he had only not 
sat on the wall that day —” 

“ I know,” murmured the Old Woman sympa¬ 
thetically. “ But Humpty doesn’t suffer any 
pain, does he? ” 

Mrs. Dumpty’s face cleared. “ No, not a 
bit,” she answered. “ But, Old Woman, what 
do you suppose the doctor says he must have 
now? ” 

“ I haven’t the faintest notion,” declared the 
Old Woman. 


[ 156 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

“ A wheel chair! ” Mrs. Dumpty’s little eyes 
bulged as she told her news. 

“ A wheel chair! 55 repeated the Old Woman 
Who Lived in a Shoe. “ Well, whatever in the 
world is that? ” 

“ It’s a chair with wheels on it,” explained 
Mrs. Dumpty. “You see, Old Woman, if 
Humpty could be pushed around in a wheel 
chair, it would be almost — not quite, but al¬ 
most — as good as walking.” 

“Why, of course! ” agreed the Old Woman. 
“What won’t they be thinking up next?” she 
concluded admiringly. 

“ But,” Mrs. Dumpty’s face became troubled 
again, “ there isn’t a wheel chair in all of Pud¬ 
ding Lane. I’ve been to the butcher’s and the 
baker’s and the candlestick-maker’s, and they 
haven’t any. And all the king’s horses and all 
the king’s men, which the king has so generously 
put at my disposal ”— here Mrs. Dumpty 
straightened up a bit proudly —“ even they 
have no wheel chair. And meanwhile my poor 
Humpty sits by the window in his rocker.” She 
was ready to cry, poor thing. 

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe brought 
her a cup of tea without a word, and without 
a word sat down beside her guest and began to 
[ 157 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

stir her own tea vigorously. She was thinking, 
was the Old Woman, for this was indeed a 
dilemma for the Dumpties, and the Old Woman 
wanted to help them out of it if she could. So 
she stirred and stirred and stirred her tea, mak¬ 
ing a great clatter, while Mrs. Dumpty sat look¬ 
ing sadly at her cup. 

And finally the Old Woman Who Lived in a 
Shoe set her cup down noisily, with a great light 
in her eye. “ Well, Mrs. Dumpty, why don’t 
you ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross and get 
a wheel chair there?” she exclaimed trium¬ 
phantly. 

At this suggestion Mrs. Dumpty stared at the 
Old Woman in amazement. It was a daring idea 
— Mrs. Dumpty had never been to Banbury 
Cross in her whole life; but it was a sensible one, 
too, for surely if any place would have a wheel 
chair, Banbury Cross would be that place. 
Mother Goose had been to Banbury Cross time 
and again, and she had reported it to be a flour¬ 
ishing center, with as many as a dozen shops. 

Mrs. Dumpty opened her mouth into a little 
round “ O ”, then closed it again and finally 
spoke. “Why—” she brought out. It was 
such a truly astonishing idea, she just couldn’t 
grasp it all at once. And yet, too, the minute 
[ 158 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

the Old Woman had spoken, Mrs. Dumpty 
knew that to go to Banbury Cross was the very 
thing to do. 

Why not? ” the Old Woman Who Lived in 
a Shoe was urging her. “ You could go one day, 
come back the next, and stay at the Threepenny 
Inn all night. It’s a very fine inn, I hear. 5 ' 

Mrs. Dumpty hesitated. “ I’ve never trav¬ 
eled,” she ventured timidly, her fat little body 
quivering with the excitement of merely think¬ 
ing about traveling. 

“ Good time to begin,” replied the Old 
Woman energetically. 

“ It’s as far as ten miles,” she objected feebly. 

“ The end of the world is farther,” was the 
Old Woman’s response. 

“ I don’t know how to ride a cockhorse.” 

“ You just sit on ’em,” the Old Woman en¬ 
lightened her, though she herself had never rid¬ 
den one and didn’t know in the least what she 
was talking about. 

Mrs. Dumpty looked at her friend admiringly. 
“ You are so brave,” she said. “ Oh, Old 
Woman,” she cried out suddenly, “ will you 
go with me? ” 

“ In the name of goodness!” exclaimed the 
Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. “ What 
[ 159 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


would I do with all my children 4 ? Who would 
spank them and tuck them in their beds? 55 

But it was finally arranged that the Old 
Woman should go with Mrs. Dumpty to Ban¬ 
bury Cross to buy the wheel chair for Humpty, 
and that night everybody in Pudding Lane knew 
of the proposed expedition. Mrs. Claus had 
kindly offered to look after Humpty, and Old 
Mother Hubbard had been asked to bring her 
poor dog over and stay in the Shoe with the in¬ 
numerable children. Needless to say, Mother 
Hubbard was only too glad to leave her bare 
cupboard for a full one, for a couple of days. 

And so the night before the great day Mrs. 
Dumpty went to bed, trembling with agitation 
over the bold undertaking of the morrow, and 
hardly slept a wink. But the Old Woman, who 
stayed awake too, smiled into the dark as she 
thought of the journey, for she was an adven¬ 
turous old woman, and it looked like a lark to 
her. 

Of course the Town Crier had got everything 
all mixed up in his announcement about the 
coming event. For he had told it far and wide 
that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and 
Mrs. Dumpty would start on their momentous 
journey at seven o’clock, which was not at all 
[ 160 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

the truth, the ladies having set their hour for six. 
It seemed rather early; but, as Mrs. Dumpty 
said, ten miles was a long way, and they might 
not get there the same day,— terrifying thought. 

But somehow, what the Town Crier had said 
didn’t seem to make any difference, for every¬ 
body on Pudding Lane was there at six o’clock 
just the same. That is, everybody was there ex¬ 
cept poor Humpty Dumpty himself and the 
Town Crier (who was much astonished when 
he went out at seven o’clock to find that the la¬ 
dies had already gone). The Old Woman Who 
Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty were indeed 
being honored with an impressive send-off. 

And you should have seen those two women! 
They had never been so magnificent before; no, 
not even when Mrs. Claus gave a party and 
everybody had been so enormously dressed up. 
Mrs. Dumpty had got out her wedding dress for 
the occasion, and she surely did look elegant in 
it, in spite of the fact that it was much too tight, 
as fat ladies’ wedding dresses always, always are. 
In one hand she carried a package containing her 
nightcap, three fresh handkerchiefs and a bottle 
of cough sirup; in the other an egg basket filled 
to bursting with lunch. The Old Woman Who 
Lived in a Shoe had wanted very much to wait 
[ 161 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

and have dinner at the Threepenny Inn, but Mrs 0 
Dumpty would hear of no such carryings-on. 

As for the Old Woman herself, she was in 
black silk with a fine new feather on her bonnet 
and a pea-green parasol to keep the sun away. 
Jumbo and Jocko and Judy and all the other 
children of the Old Woman, who followed their 
mother in a winding string from the Shoe to the 
crossroads, had never seen her look so regal and 
were extremely proud of her appearance. 

Well, there they stood at the crossroads, Mrs. 
Dumpty quivering with fear and excitement, the 
Old Woman impatient to be off, and all their 
friends standing around and wondering how it 
felt to be going on such a long journey. And 
precisely at six o’clock into their midst pranced 
the jaunty little cockhorses driven by the keeper 
of King Cole’s stables. For these travelers were 
to ride no ordinary cockhorses, but the King’s 
best. The King was still deeply interested in 
Humpty’s case and was helping in this substan¬ 
tial manner. One of the horses was a sleek little 
white horse with a bright eye; the other was black 
and tossed his mane in the liveliest fashion pos¬ 
sible. Mrs. Dumpty grew pale at the sight of 
them, for she was sure she was going to fall and 
break her neck. But the dauntless Old Woman 
[ 162 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

picked up her skirts and almost danced a jig in 
her impatience to be off. 

And now the great moment was here. The 
Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe began hastily 
to kiss all her children, which took some time, of 
course. Mr. Claus, the baker, stepped gallantly 
forward to offer his services to Mrs. Dumpty in 
mounting her horse, a service that Mrs. Dumpty 
accepted with deep gratitude. Mr. Claus bent 
low and cupped his hand, into which Mrs. 
Dumpty stepped timidly and uncertainly. As 
Mr. Claus gave her a boost, Mrs. Dumpty 
grabbed the horse’s mane, the horse started to 
go, but “ Whoa, whoa! ” commanded Mr. Claus 
in a bellowing voice, and finally, shaking and 
pale, the little fat lady was on her horse. 

She was on, but she wished for all the world 
that she were off. 

However, there was nothing to do except 
start, and there, who was that galloping by on 
the white horse but the Old Woman, holding 
on for dear life and waving her parasol in joy¬ 
ful excitement! The black horse started then 
too, and clutching the lines and the egg basket 
and her bonnet all at once, and screaming 
weakly, Mrs. Dumpty was seen to follow her 
friend in a mad gallop down Pinafore Pike. 

[ 163 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


And that was the last that Pudding Lane saw 
of them for seven whole days. 

Yes, Mrs. Dumpty and the Old Woman Who 
Lived in a Shoe actually stayed away from home 
for seven whole days, a thing that nobody in 
Pudding Lane had ever done before, except 
Mother Goose, who was of course a privileged 
character. 

At the end of the second day everybody went 
down to the crossroads to meet the home-coming 
travelers, for nobody dreamed that they 
wouldn’t come back just as they had promised; 
they were such extremely reliable women. But 
dusk came, and they had not appeared. Little 
wobbly stars ventured out, and no cockhorses 
came flourishing around the corner. At last it 
grew quite black and was really night, and still 
the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty had not 
come home to their children. 

Where could they be? asked everybody of 
everybody else. It was very mysterious. 

“ I’m afraid they’re lost on the road,” said 
the butcher. 

“ It’s a perfectly straight road,” the baker re¬ 
minded him. 

“ They may have come to grief in Banbury 
Cross,” suggested the candlestick-maker. 

[ 164 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

“ I fear they have,” said the carpenter. 

Just then one of the king’s men came riding 
by and saw the anxious group. “ What is the 
matter?” he inquired. 

The cobbler stepped up with respectful im¬ 
portance. “ The Old Woman Who Lived in a 
Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty went to Banbury Cross 
two days ago and have not returned, sir,” he 
said. 

“Have you had bad news of them?” asked 
the king’s man. “ No news is good news in 
King Cole’s kingdom, you know,” and with that 
he flicked his horse and rode off. 

How relieved they all were! For of course 
that explained everything. No news was good 
news. That was one of old King Cole’s laws. 
How they had forgotten it, even for a moment, 
they could not imagine; but they had, every one 
of them, though you couldn’t find a body of 
more law-abiding citizens in the whole kingdom. 
So they went home to bed, with no further anx¬ 
iety about the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty 
so far away in Banbury Cross. 

But even if the Old Woman Who Lived in a 
Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty had not been safe and 
sound, Pudding Lane would have had no time 
to worry about them after that. For something 
[ 16 H 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

else happened so much more serious that nobody 
could think of anything except that. 

It began, indeed, that very night. Every¬ 
thing was still and quiet throughout the whole 
village, for it was way past midnight and Pud¬ 
ding Lane had been asleep hours and hours, 
when suddenly Polly, one of the little girls who 
lived in the Shoe (the fat one, you know), woke 
up. It was a queer thing for her to do, to wake 
up right in the middle of the night like that, but 
then she felt queer, with a wavy feeling in her 
stomach that was most uncomfortable. Polly 
had never had such a feeling before, except one 
time when she ate too much jelly cake at Mis¬ 
tress Mary’s birthday party. But there had been 
no jelly cake this night. Just the usual broth 
and spanking. The broth could not do that to 
her stomach, she thought to herself, and cer¬ 
tainly Old Mother Hubbard’s gentle little 
spankings wouldn’t hurt a mouse. The tender¬ 
hearted old lady did not enjoy that part of her 
duty in the Shoe one bit, and the children had 
really almost forgotten what a good sound 
spanking was like. 

As Polly lay there, wishing the wavy feeling 
would go away, she heard Patsy in the next bed 
give a little moan. (Patsy was the one without 
[ 166 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

any front teeth.) The next minute Judy, on the 
other side of her (the one who couldn’t spell), 
turned over in her sleep with a sob. The baby 
began to cry; Jocko and Jumbo and the twins 
and the several unnamed children sat up in bed 
with a start; Mother Hubbard’s poor dog began 
to bark as if in pain. 

“ Mercy on us!” Mother Hubbard jumped 
out of bed and began to fumble for a candle. 
“ What in the world is the matter with you 
children? ” 

Just then she stumbled against one of the lit¬ 
tle beds and the next minute was pitched off her 
feet over against another bed. 

“ What is the matter?” cried old Mother 
Hubbard desperately. “ Why are the children 
sobbing and moaning? Why is this beast yowl¬ 
ing? Why can’t I keep my feet?” 

With that she lighted a candle and looked 
around, and she soon discovered what the trouble 
was. The trouble was that the Shoe, up to that 
time a perfectly substantial dwelling, was sway¬ 
ing ever so slightly in the wind, for all the world 
like a ship on the gently rolling waves of the 
sea. No wonder the children were sick! No 
wonder the poor dog yowled and old Mother 
Hubbard couldn’t walk straight! 

[ 167 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

But old Mother Hubbard knew what to do, 
right enough. She staggered to the cupboard 
and took down a big bottle, after which, stum¬ 
bling and tumbling, she went to each little bed 
with a dose and a comforting pat for every 
child. She gave the poor dog, not a bone, but 
a dose of medicine too, and finally, after she 
herself had taken a big tablespoonful, she rolled 
back into bed, the baby in her arms, her night¬ 
cap over one ear. 

The wind quieted down and the children went 
to sleep, but the next day old Mother Hubbard 
had a fine tale for the women of Pudding Lane. 

“Well, I never ! 55 exclaimed Mrs. Claus, 
when she heard of it. “ Whatever did you 
do ? 55 

“ I gave ’em a quart of peppermint oil , 55 re¬ 
lated Old Mother Hubbard. “ And they all 
went to sleep . 55 

“ Well! 55 Mrs. Claus drew a long breath. “ I 
must say, neighbor, I’m glad I have only 
Humpty to look after. To live in a shoe with 
all those children, and to have it act like a rock¬ 
ing-chair at night — 55 Mrs. Claus threw up 
her hands at the thought of such a situation and 
thanked her stars it wasn’t her who had to go 
through it. 


[ 168 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

And that was only the beginning of it. The 
real disaster came four nights later. 

It was the worst night Pudding Lane had 
seen in many a day, as Mrs. Claus said,— a real 
November storm with a whipping rain that 
lashed angrily in every direction and wind that 
tore at trees and chimneys until they creaked 
and cracked with the strain. 

Nobody on Pudding Lane so much as stuck 
a nose out that night. By seven o’clock every¬ 
body was tight in bed, some of them even hiding 
under the bedclothes, and there wasn’t a candle 
burning in the whole of the village, not even in 
the palace of Old King Cole. 

Mrs. Claus, who was staying at the Dump- 
ties’, wondered anxiously about her own chil¬ 
dren at home with the baker. As for Mother 
Hubbard, she did wish to goodness that she were 
not sleeping in an old, weather-beaten shoe that 
night, for although Jumbo had fastened the but¬ 
tons up tight and had put the canvas top up, 
still she feared that the Shoe might rock again 
as it had the other night. 

And sure enough, just as she feared, as the 
storm grew worse and worse, the Shoe began to 
do its old trick. At first it rocked only gently, 
slipping uncertainly around in the mud. 

[ 169 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

“ Oh, dear! 55 cried Polly. “ We are rocking 
again, Mother Hubbard / 5 

“ We are that / 5 replied Mother Hubbard 
grimly, longing for the safety of her own kitchen. 

“ What shall we do? 55 asked Polly. “ Shall 
we take more peppermint oil ? 55 

“ There is no more / 5 replied Old Mother 
Hubbard. “ Let’s see. Supposing — 55 She 
was trying to think of some way to amuse all 
the children so they would forget the storm. 

But Mother Hubbard got no further, for sud¬ 
denly the Shoe leaned over to one side in the 
wind, tipping everybody and everything into 
one corner. Such a hubbub of noise and confu¬ 
sion as there was! The pots and pans rattled 
as they flew from their hooks; the poor dog 
whimpered and wailed; the baby cried. Even 
the older children, who tried to be brave, were 
bruised from the bumping and frightened be¬ 
yond words. Oh, dear, what a fearful and un¬ 
expected catastrophe! And still the storm grew 
worse, and the Shoe rocked harder, until they 
felt as if they were in a tipsy boat on a sea 
that raged and tossed. You never would 
have thought that this was the dear old Shoe 
that had been such a happy home all these 
years. 


[ 170 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

“ We’ll have to get out/’ said Old Mother 
Hubbard to herself. 

But as she peeped through the lowest button¬ 
hole she saw that the rain was beating harder 
than ever against the trees, and the wind was 
waving a thousand arms. 

Worse and worse it got. The Shoe tilted to 
one side and then the other. Once it almost 
tipped completely over, but the wind whirled 
suddenly around the other way, and up came the 
Shoe again, tottering dizzily. 

There was no hope. Mother Hubbard looked 
around at the frightened children in the madly- 
rocking Shoe. 

“We must get out,” she said. "Jumbo, fly 
out and unbutton the Shoe as fast as ever you 
can. Jocko, take the twins with you. Judy and 
Patsy and Polly and Nancy, and all the others, 
line up in a row. I’ll take the baby. The rest 
of you jump out the minute the Shoe is opened.” 

Jumbo bravely climbed out of the top of the 
Shoe into the storm. Jumbo was twelve and 
very courageous, as you see. It was his duty to 
open and close the Shoe every night, and al¬ 
though the buttonhook was a rather large and 
clumsy affair, he handled it like a man, and had 
often been much complimented on his skill. In 

[ 171 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


a twinkling the Shoe was open, and in another 
twinkling the children had all jumped out into 
the rain and wind and thunder and lightning. 

They were just in time. Old Mother Hub¬ 
bard and the poor dog had but just stepped out 
of the rickety Shoe when over it went for the 
last time, spilling beds and stoves and stools 
helter-skelter. It was a sad spectacle for the 
children of the Old Woman Who Lived in a 
Shoe. But there was no time for repining. Al¬ 
ready they were all soaked and shivering. On 
a run they all started for Mother Hubbard’s 
kitchen. 

You can imagine what an uproar there was 
in Pudding Lane the next day, when everybody 
heard of the accident that had happened to the 
Shoe. Everybody went to Mother Hubbard’s 
kitchen to see the children, to ask questions, to 
shake their heads and to say what a dreadful 
thing it was. It was a great day for the chil¬ 
dren who had lived in the Shoe, for although it 
was sad to be homeless, still they did enjoy be¬ 
ing talked about and made over, and soon began 
to feel very important. 

On that day nobody even thought of poor 
Humpty Dumpty, except Mrs. Claus, who was 
still staying with him, and Humpty sat at home 
[ 172 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

alone, wondering where his mother was and 
wishing somebody — oh, just anybody — would 
come to see him. And just as he was wishing 
that, who do you suppose came up the walk? 

Yes, it was Mrs. Dumpty, wheeling a great 
chair in front of her and smiling as she used 
to smile in the days when Humpty was well. 
When he saw her, Humpty almost jumped out 
of his rocker with delight, and indeed that re¬ 
union between the Dumpties was such a one as 
to make Mrs. Claus, who was there, sniffle and 
clear her throat. 

“ Well, where on earth have you been? 55 was 
Mrs. Claus’s question. 

“ We’ve been in Banbury Cross,” answered 
Mrs. Dumpty. “Where else?” 

“But why did you stay so long?” persisted 
Mrs. Claus. “We have been so alarmed about 
you.” 

“ Oh,” replied Humpty’s mother, “ we had to 
wait for the sick boy, who had this chair, to get 
well. It was the only chair in Banbury Cross, 
you see.” 

Mrs. Dumpty’s home-coming was a happy 
one, but what do you think the feelings of 
the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe must have 
been when she found out what had happened? 

[ 173 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

The Old Woman had had a good time in Ban¬ 
bury Cross. In fact, she had never had quite 
such a good time in all her life, she told Mrs. 
Dumpty. But just the same, she was most eager 
to get home to her dear children, and she was 
anxious to live in a shoe again after those days in 
the Threepenny Inn. And so as she rode the 
cockhorse up Pinafore Pike and turned into Pud¬ 
ding Lane, she was indeed a happy woman. 

And then her eyes fell on the poor old over¬ 
turned Shoe, and she thought she should faint 
with terror. Up she dashed to inspect the ruins. 
The Shoe was twisted and bent and lying on its 
side deep in the mud. How horrible to come 
home from a journey and find your home a 
wreck! 

But where were the children? Had they all 
been carried off by the storm? With a cry the 
Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe ran down 
Pudding Lane. Soon she learned the truth. She 
was indeed relieved to find her children, every 
single one of them, safe and happy with Old 
Mother Hubbard. But it was a sorrow to have 
no home, and the Old Woman, for the first time 
in her life, had not the heart to spank the chil¬ 
dren all around before putting them to bed. 

The next morning King Cole sent for the Old 
[ 174 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

Woman to come to the palace, and it was sus¬ 
pected that the merry old soul had some plan 
for new quarters for her and all her children. 
Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was barer than ever 
now, and they really could not stay there an¬ 
other day longer. It turned out to be just as 
the two women had thought. Old King Cole, 
after considering the matter carefully, hand¬ 
somely offered the Old Woman the use of The 
House-that-Jack-Built, rent free, until another 
shoe could be found. Shoes were so scarce, you 
know, that she might never find one again. And 
so it was considered that the King’s offer was a 
very fine one, and that the Old Woman Who 
Lived in a Shoe and her children ought to be 
thankful and happy to be given such a beauti¬ 
ful home. 

But somehow the Old Woman was not happy 
one single bit, for although The House-that- 
Jack-Built was a much more elegant affair than 
the old Shoe, still the Old Woman didn’t like 
houses, however elegant, and had always said, 
you know, that she would never live in one. 

She thought and thought before she accepted 
the King’s offer. The old slipper she had gone 
to housekeeping in so many years ago was empty, 
but it was far too small for the innumerable 
[ 175 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


children and therefore would not do. The laced 
shoe she had moved into next was unfit for habi¬ 
tation now. It had never been repaired or 
blackened since it was first made, and, of course, 
no shoe can last with that kind of treatment. So 
finally she had to accept Old King Cole’s offer, 
simply because there wasn’t anything else to do. 
And that afternoon they moved in, the Old 
Woman and all those children. 

The House-that-Jack-Built was really a very 
beautiful house, with porches and steps and fine 
furniture; for Jack had expected to live there 
himself and had put a good deal of work on it, 
as you know. Moreover, nobody had ever lived 
in it at all, for Jack had suddenly lost interest in 
the house and had gone back to the city, after 
selling the house to King Cole. It was under¬ 
stood that the lady for whom Jack was building 
the house had changed her mind about marrying 
him. 

Yes, it was a beautiful house, but somehow 
the Old Woman and even the children did not 
appreciate it at all. It was hard for them to live 
in a house, you see, after spending their lives in 
a shoe, and it really isn’t any wonder that they 
all cried a little bit into their pillows that night 
before going off to sleep. 

[ 176 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had 
really expected that she and her children would 
get over their homesickness but it seemed that 
every day they longed for their old home a little 
more, until they really were not happy at all, but 
quite miserable. They were ashamed of them¬ 
selves, for King Cole had been so good to them 
they felt almost wicked to be ungrateful, and 
they tried hard not to let anybody know how 
wretched they were in their grand new house. 
But the truth was that they all wanted only one 
thing in the world, and that was their old but¬ 
toned Shoe again, where they could go on living 
as before. 

And then one day it all came out. The Old 
Woman was calling on Mrs. Claus when some¬ 
body mentioned the Shoe. Before she knew 
what she was doing, the Old Woman was crying 
— yes, crying as hard as she could cry — and 
though she was furious with herself for doing it, 
she couldn’t stop at all. 

Mrs. Claus was amazed at this. “ Why, Old 
Woman,” she said kindly, “ I didn’t know you 
felt that way about the Shoe.” 

The Old Woman nodded her head, as she 
continued to sob and rock. And right then Mrs. 
Claus made a promise to herself. She promised 
[ 177 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


herself that Mr. Claus, who was a very influen¬ 
tial citizen, should go to the King and tell him 
just how the Old Woman felt, for surely their 
good, kind King could do something about the 
Shoe, if only he knew how important it was. 

Mrs. Claus kept that promise to herself, and 
the next day the baker went off to interview the 
King, who was most surprised to hear this news 
and extremely worried over it. He was such a 
merry old soul he could not bear to have any¬ 
body in the kingdom in the least troubled or un¬ 
happy. 

“ But there’s no other shoe,” he told Mr. 
Claus. “ What can I do to help the poor Old 
Woman? ” 

“ Could this one not be set up again?” in¬ 
quired Mr. Claus helpfully. “ Mended, per¬ 
haps, and fastened firmly against future 
storms? ” 

“ I’ll see; I’ll see,” said the King. “ I’ll send 
for the carpenter and let him look it over.” 

That same afternoon the carpenter made a 
careful inspection of the Shoe. He looked at 
the buttons. They seemed sound and good. He 
investigated the buttonholes, and they were 
found to be satisfactory. The sole had not a 
single hole in it, and the toe could be patched 
[ 178 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


to be as good as new. But there was that heel, 
a run-over affair that made the whole Shoe stand 
crooked. And even if that were made even 
again, he doubted whether it would not slip in 
the mud as it had before, when the rains came 
again. 

The carpenter was about to give an unfavor¬ 
able report to King Cole, when he had a sudden 
and brilliant idea. They could put a rubber heel 
on the Shoe, and it would then stand firm and 
true and never again be blown by the wind and 
pushed around in the mud. It was the very 
thing! 

Old King Cole hailed this as a most excellent 
idea and straightway sent for the Old Woman. 

“ Dear me, what next ? 55 said the Old 
Woman, when she got the message to appear 
again at the royal palace, for she did not know 
that Mr. Claus had taken up her case with the 
King, you see. 

But up to the palace she went, and when old 
King Cole told her that she could live in her 
Shoe again, after it had been repaired with a 
patch on the toe and a rubber heel, the elated 
woman just danced a jig right there in the throne 
room, until King Cole laughed to see her, and 
even the Queen was amused. She could hardly 
[ 179 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 


stop to thank the King, but she did manage to 
make a bow, after which she ran home to the 
children, kicking up her heels and waving her 
arms in hilarious delight. Such a furor as she 
created when she told those children that they 
were going back to live in the Shoe again. They 
had never been such a happy family before. 

Old King Cole had said that they might move 
into the Shoe in exactly one week, during which 
time the carpenter was to make the Shoe as good 
as new, even to polishing it with fine new polish. 
But the King did not know, when he made that 
promise, that there was going to be more trouble. 

The trouble arose when the cobbler heard that 
the carpenter was going to London to buy a rub¬ 
ber heel for the Old Woman’s Shoe. 

“ Shoes are a cobbler’s business,” he said, and 
with that he went in great indignation to Old 
King Cole. 

“ What is this you are saying? ” asked the 
King, who did not always listen very carefully 
to what people said. 

“ I’m saying, sir,” repeated the cobbler, “ that 
shoes are a cobbler’s business.” 

“ I agree with you,” replied the King. “ But 
why have you come here to tell uie what I al¬ 
ready know? ” 


[ 180 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

“ Because, sir, you have put the carpenter to 
work mending a shoe here in Pudding Lane, 5 ’ 
said the cobbler. 

“ Nonsense, of course I haven’t / 5 began King 
Cole. “ Oh, I see, you mean the Old Woman’s 
Shoe?” he asked. 

“ That, and no other, sir,” said the cobbler. 

The King looked embarrassed. “ Oh — er 
— well, let’s call the carpenter in,” he said, for 
he saw that the cobbler was determined to stay 
it out. 

But when the carpenter came in, and old King 
Cole told him that the cobbler had objected to 
their previous arrangement, then it was the car¬ 
penter’s turn to be offended. 

“ But, sir,” said he, “ the Shoe is the Old 
Woman’s house, isn’t it? Then why isn’t it a 
carpenter’s business to make the necessary re¬ 
pairs? ” 

The King sighed. It was a problem. Whose 
business was it to mend the Old Woman’s Shoe, 
the cobbler’s or the carpenter’s? It was a shoe, 
and it was a house. He was frank to say he 
couldn’t settle it. He turned to the queen, but 
she, as usual, was asleep, her crown on her nose. 
The poor King didn’t know which way to turn. 

There was nothing to do except send for the 

[ 181 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

whole town to come up to the palace to consider 
the weighty problem. So the Town Crier was 
sent out in a great hurry to summon all the 
people to the palace. And for once in his life 
the Town Crier managed to get through the job 
without making a single mistake. 

The people of Pudding Lane were indeed sur¬ 
prised that King Cole should send for them in 
that hasty manner. 

“ It must be very serious,” they told each 
other. 

“ Maybe the Queen is sick,” suggested Mr. 
Horner. 

“ She might even be dead! ” Mrs. Grundy 
added hopefully. 

“ Well, come along, let’s hurry,” urged the 
piper, and so they all rushed into the street and 
hurried pell-mell to answer the summons of the 
King. 

The King shook hands with everybody and 
then tried to awaken the Queen, but that lady 
must have been exceedingly tired and sleepy, for 
though he shook her and shook her, she wouldn’t 
wake up at all. 

“ Let her sleep,” said the butcher in a kindly 
manner. “ We all know what it is to be sleepy.” 

The King, looking relieved, cleared his throat 

[ 182 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

and told them all just what the trouble was. 
When he mentioned the Shoe the Old Woman 
almost fell over with astonishment, for she had 
no idea that it was on account of her that the 
meeting had been called. And when he related 
how the cobbler and the carpenter were quarrel¬ 
ing, the Old Woman felt a terrible fear in her 
heart. Supposing the matter never could be 
settled, and she would have to stay in The 
House-that-Jack-Built all the rest of her life. 

“ And now,” the King ended, “ I leave it to 
the people to decide.” 

Everybody looked scared. It was such a 
knotty problem, and there was so much to be 
said for the standpoint of both the cobbler and 
the carpenter, that they just stood there and 
didn’t say anything. 

“ Come,” said King Cole. “ What do you 
say, candlestick-maker?” 

The candlestick-maker started and then tried 
to look wise. “ Well, I wouldn’t exactly know 
what to say, sir,” he said importantly. 

“ What about you, Mr. Horner? ” The King 
turned to Jack Horner’s father. “ What advice 
have you to offer? ” 

Mr. Horner shook his head. “ It’s too much 
for me, sir,” he admitted. 

[ 183 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

Then the Old Woman herself was asked for 
an opinion. 

“ Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, King 
Cole! ” she cried out. “ But do let’s settle 
it somehow. I feel as if I should die if I 
couldn’t go back to live in the old Shoe once 
more.” 

At this outburst of grief the King’s distress 
increased. He looked at the cobbler and at the 
carpenter, but neither one of them would give 
in an inch; he could tell that by the set look of 
their faces. King Cole sighed loudly, and then 
opened his mouth to speak. He was going to 
tell the Old Woman that, after all, she could 
not live in the Shoe again, but would have to 
put up with the House-that-Jack-Built as best 
she could. 

And just at that moment Mother Goose was 
ushered in. She was on her way for a visit to 
the Clauses, and she said she thought she’d just 
run in to say hello to the King. 

“ But, mercy on us! ” she exclaimed, looking 
around at the assembled people. “ What is it — 
a coronation?” 

Old King Cole explained affairs to his friend. 
He told her how sad the Old Woman was and 
pointed out the cobbler and the carpenter, who 
[ 184 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

were standing there, glaring at each other, the 
cause of the whole trouble. 

“Now isn’t that a hard one?” he asked the 
old lady, looking at her anxiously to see what 
she thought of the matter. 

“ Hard one, nothing! ” replied Mother Goose, 
looking sharply at the cobbler and the carpen¬ 
ter. “ Give the business to Jack-of-All-Trades 
and let those fellows go.” 

What a happy solution that was. How glad 
they all were. The Old Woman Who Lived in 
a Shoe was too overjoyed for words, but the rest 
of the people just chattered and buzzed and flut¬ 
tered around in their pleased excitement. 

And so it was decided that Jack-of-All-Trades 
should mend the shoe, and the cobbler and the 
carpenter, feeling very cheap, were dismissed 
from the presence of the King. 

It was exactly one week later that the Old 
Woman took all her children and moved back 
into the Shoe, which now stood up proudly on 
its rubber heel, mended and polished until it 
looked like new. In fact, it looked so fine that 
the Old Woman and her children hardly recog¬ 
nized it as the same old Shoe and were almost 
afraid the King had fooled them and had got 
a new shoe somewhere. 

[ 185 ] 


MOTHER GOOSE SETTLES A DIFFICULTY 

But, sure enough, when they climbed inside, 
there were the same old spots and stains on the 
wall, the same old beds, and the same old pots 
and pans. And then they all settled down and 
knew they would be happy forever after, be¬ 
cause they were back in their dear Shoe, never 
to leave it again. 


[ 186 ] 


XII 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

1 

P UDDING LANE was creaking and 
cracking with snow. Snow, snow, snow! 
It ground under the heel of Old Mother 
Hubbard as she went to the butcher’s to buy an 
especially juicy bone for the poor dog; it 
crunched under the tread of Mr. Horner as he 
walked to the baker’s to order Jack’s Christmas 
pie; it squeaked under the tread of the Town 
Crier as he trudged up and down Pudding Lane, 
calling, “ Christmas is coming, Christmas is 
coming, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas! ” 

For Christmas was coming, and although such 
an announcement was not exactly news to the 
people of Pudding Lane, still it was pleasant 
just to hear the Town Crier say it. There’s 
something about the very word “ Christmas ” 
that makes you feel happy and jolly. 

And so, since Christmas was so close, every¬ 
body in Pudding Lane was as busy as busy could 
[ 187 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


be. The candlestick-maker sat day and night 
working his copper and brass. The Clauses were 
up to their eyes in pies and cakes. Even the 
children had no time for play, but spent all their 
spare moments gathering holly and mistletoe to 
deck the windows and fireplaces with. And as 
for little Santa Claus, nobody saw him these 
days, for Christmas was his busy season, and 
many weeks before he had retired to the wood¬ 
shed and emerged now only for meals and bed. 

But this Christmas there was something else 
going on in Pudding Lane, something exciting 
and mysterious and very important. It was a 
tremendous secret. And it was this: the people 
of Pudding Lane were going to surprise Santa 
Claus himself; they were going to hang up his 
stocking and put gifts in it, just as if he were not 
Santa Claus at all, but a regular little boy like 
all the others. 

It was strange that nobody had ever thought 
of this before, for Santa Claus was just a regular 
little boy, after all, and surely all little boys, 
even Santa Claus, should have a Christmas 
stocking. But somehow nobody had thought 
of it, and although Santa Claus, all these years, 
had been giving Christmas gifts to everybody 
else, he never had got one himself. He had 
[ 188 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

never hung up his stocking; he had never been 
surprised on Christmas morning; he had never 
had any Christmas fun except the fun of sur¬ 
prising other people. The funny part of it was, 
too, that he had never even thought of such a 
thing. 

But this year, although Santa Claus had not 
thought of such a thing, the rest of Pudding 
Lane had, and so the secret had been hatched, 
and the plans were going merrily on, the plans 
for surprising Santa Claus on Christmas morn¬ 
ing. 

It was a good thing that Santa Claus was so 
occupied, or he surely would have guessed that 
something unusual was going on. He would 
have guessed it from the way Simple Simon 
sniggered every time he came near Santa, or by 
the way Judy kept asking him over and over 
what he wanted for Christmas, or by the way 
everybody nudged everybody else whenever he 
appeared in public. But luckily for them, he 
paid no attention to all these hints, being far 
too engrossed in his own Christmas affairs to no¬ 
tice anything at all. 

Indeed, he was so abstracted as to call forth 
a comment from that plain-spoken woman, his 
mother. 


[ 189 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ Dear me, Santa Claus, 5 ’ she said one day at 
dinner, as he sat staring at the wall, “ I really 
think that if a bear should walk in on you, you’d 
sit there staring just the same,— or indeed, if 
fifty bears should walk in on you.” 

This flight of imagination brought Santa to. 

“ I was thinking about that little red wagon,” 
he explained. “ Simple Simon wants a little red 
wagon for Christmas, you see, and it seems like 
such a queer gift for him.” 

“ Queer gifts to queer people,” replied Mrs. 
Claus. “ But eat your dinner now, Santa Claus. 
I don’t intend to cook my life away and have my 
children starve to death.” 

There was a reason why Mrs. Claus wanted 
Santa Claus to hurry and finish his dinner. The 
reason was that all the grown-ups of Pudding 
Lane were coming to the Clauses’ that evening 
to discuss the final plans for Santa Claus’s sur¬ 
prise. Consequently, Mrs. Claus had a great 
deal of work to do, and she wanted Santa Claus 
well out of the way. It was with a great sigh 
of relief, therefore, that she saw Santa finish his 
dinner and depart again for the woodshed. 

“ Well,” said she to Mr. Claus and the twins, 
“ he like to never went! ” 

“ Yes, he did,” replied the baker, meaning, I 
[ 190 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

suppose, that Santa Claus did like to never went, 
whatever that meant. “ Do you think, Nellie, 
that he guesses the least tiny bit that we’re plan¬ 
ning this Christmas surprised” 

“ No, he doesn’t guess a thing,” replied Mrs. 
Claus. “ He’s thinking only of little red wag¬ 
ons.” 

“ Won’t he be surprised, though 1 ? ” Mr. 
Claus grinned at the prospect. 

“ No little boy was ever so surprised in the 
whole world as Santa Claus will be this Christ¬ 
mas morning,” said Mrs. Claus with conviction. 
“ But look here, baker, this is no time to sit idly 
in the kitchen. What about Jack Horner’s pie, 
sir? And the animal crackers. Mr. Claus, I am 
surprised that you would neglect the animal 
crackers like this! ” 

Whereupon, Mr. Claus, much ashamed of him¬ 
self, departed for the bakeshop and Mrs. Claus 
began to tear things up in the front parlor for 
the company that was coming that night. 

Santa Claus and the twins and the baby were 
all in bed and sound asleep that night when 
Mrs. Claus, attired in her best, and Mr. Claus, 
attired in his best, sat awaiting their guests. 
But in spite of their fine clothes, and in spite of 
the fact that the Clauses’ front parlor was bril- 
[ 191 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


liantly lighted with as many as eight or ten can¬ 
dles, in spite of the fact that this was perhaps 
the most important event that ever was to take 
place in the humble home of the Clauses, the 
host and hostess at that moment were a far from 
lively couple. 

For as Mrs. Claus sat there stiffly, she kept 
opening and closing her mouth in such tremen¬ 
dous yawns that it was a wonder she didn’t swal¬ 
low herself. And as Mr. Claus stood at atten¬ 
tion by the door, he dozed and came to with 
such lurches and pitches that it seemed as if he 
must fall down on the floor just any moment, 
plunged into the deepest of slumbers. Indeed, 
he would have, I do believe, if Mrs. Claus, be¬ 
tween yawns, hadn’t called out: “ Look out 
there, Mr. Claus! Look out! ” At which he 
then would look out from his heavy, half-shut 
eyes and stop lurching for the briefest while. 

The truth was that the Clauses were already 
so terribly, fearfully, awfully sleepy that it 
didn’t seem at all possible that they would get 
through the evening, inasmuch as the evening 
hadn’t even started yet. Night life in Pudding 
Lane was not what it might have been and late 
hours were extremely rare. 

Well, there they were, Mrs. Claus one great 
[ 192 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

enormous yawn, and Mr. Claus reeling like a 
sleepy wooden soldier, when thumpety, thump, 
came a noise down Pudding Lane. Mrs. Claus 
heard the thumpety-thump first and sat up 
straighter than ever. 

“Look out there, Mr. Claus, look out! ” she 
warned him, for Mr. Claus by that time was 
swaying in a most terrifying fashion. Mr. Claus 
opened his eyes. 

“ They’re coming! ” she told him. 

“ Who’s coming? ” asked Mr. Claus stupidly. 
He was far gone, wasn’t he? 

“They!” cried Mrs. Claus, exasperated. 
“ The company! ” 

Just at that minute there came a great 
bang at the door. Mr. Claus jumped a foot 
high. 

“Who in the world can that be?” he cried. 
“ Who are you? ” he demanded fiercely. “ Who 
are you?” 

“ Mr. Claus,” screamed his wife frantically, 
“will you open that door or won’t you? It’s 
the company come.” 

But Mr. Claus, determined to be a hero at 
whatever cost, continued to grow more and more 
heroic, as the banging at the door went on, and 
striking a warlike pose he thundered, “ Who are 
[ 193 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

you, I say, coming to disturb good honest people 
at such an hour of the night? ” 

“Oh!” yelled poor Mrs. Claus at this. 
“What a man! ” She flew from the sofa and 
flung open the door for the crowd of people that 
was waiting. 

Mrs. Grundy, as usual, came strutting in first, 
ahead even of Old King Cole, which was not ex¬ 
actly according to court procedure. 

“ Well, I must say, baker! ” she said haught¬ 
ily, though what she thought she must say, she 
didn’t say, somehow. 

“What’s this, Claus?” asked the butcher 
jovially. “ Did you think we were come to steal 
the silver?” 

The Queen of Hearts gave Mr. Claus a play¬ 
ful dig with her elbow. 

“ Such a man as you are, baker,” she tittered, 
“ to joke with us like that.” 

But Mr. Claus, still blinking, did not in the 
least know what it was all about, and as he 
looked from one to the other of that vast com¬ 
pany of his neighbors and friends, he showed 
such complete bewilderment and perplexity that 
they all burst out laughing. All but Mrs. Claus, 
that is. I'f looks could kill, Mr. Claus would 
have been dead on the spot. For Mrs. Claus 
[ 194 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

was a hospitable soul and to have her husband 
treat company that way was more than she 
could bear. 

It was the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 
who finally took pity on him, as the rest of the 
company just stood there and laughed at his 
funny puzzled countenance. 

“ Wake up, Mr. Claus,” she said. 

“Wake up and stay awake!” added Mrs. 
Claus, as the Old Woman continued, “ Wake 
up! We’ve come to talk about the Christmas 
surprise for Santa Claus. Don’t you remem¬ 
ber?” 

Then suddenly Mr. Claus did remember, and, 
oh, how chagrined he was then, how extrava¬ 
gantly he apologized for his rudeness to the 
company, and how he upbraided himself for 
being such a dunderhead, as he expressed 
it. 

It was very late in the evening when Old 
King Cole, rising heavily to his feet, called for 
a summing-up of the evening’s business. 

“ Mr. Horner,” said he to Jack Horner’s 
father, “ will you please to summarize the con¬ 
clusions we have reached this night in regard to 
Santa Claus’s Christmas surprise?” 

Mr. Horner, jumping up, bowed low to the 
[ 195 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


King, cleared his throat, looked uncertainly 
around him, opened his mouth and began to 
speak. 

“ I — sir — I suggest —” 

“ Oh, no,” Old King Cole waved his hand. 
“ No more suggestions, please. Just summarize, 
if you will, Mr. Horner, just summarize.” 

Mr. Horner tried again. 

“ Your Majesty, I would remark —” 

“ Mr. Horner, if you please,” interrupted the 
merry old soul testily, “ I don’t want you to re¬ 
mark. All that I ask of you is that you sum¬ 
marize. Surely a King may ask such a small 
favor of a loyal subject, Mr. Horner.” 

“ Your Majesty,” spoke Mr. Horner with dig¬ 
nity, “ I’m afraid I must refuse to — to — sum 
— well, to do as you require.” 

With that, Mr. Horner sat down, his face red 
and his hands shaking. For the trouble with 
Mr. Horner was that he didn’t know what “ sum¬ 
marize ” meant, but rather than admit it, he 
would have gone into a deep dungeon and stayed 
there the rest of his life, so proud a man was 
Mr. Horner. 

When Mr. Horner refused the King and sat 
down as he did, everybody, including Mr. Hor¬ 
ner himself, expected something calamitous to 
[ 196 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


happen, for that’s what it means to be a King, 
to have people do as you tell them. They all 
shivered as they sat there. What would the 
King say to the disobedient Mr. Horner and 
what would he do 6 ? Only Mrs. Horner did not 
shiver, for she was too frightened even to shiver, 
but sat stone-still in her rocking chair, like a 
rigid, glass-eyed doll. 

But what was everybody’s astonishment when 
Old King Cole began to chuckle, then laugh out 
loud, and finally so jolly did he become that he 
rocked and gasped and held his stomach in a per¬ 
fect storm of merriment. Indeed, it began to 
look as if he would never recover. He did re¬ 
cover, however, due to the presence of mind of 
Mrs. Grundy, who fetched a pitcher of water, 
saying, as she did so, and very truly too, that 
there’s nothing like water to bring a man to his 
senses. 

66 Well, Mr. Horner,” said the King, as he 
wiped his eyes of their tears of laughter and 
his face of the deluge of water, 66 1 admire your 
spirit, sir. But come now, it is growing late. 
Who will summarize for me? ” 

Jack Spratt jumped up eagerly. He knew 
what “ summarize ” meant and was bursting to 
show off his knowledge. And here is the speech 
[ 197 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


he made. You will agree, I am sure, that Jack 
Spratt was a masterly hand at speeches. 

“ Your Majesty, Your Gracious Beauty , 55 
(this last was meant for the Queen of Hearts 
who now bowed her head in ill-concealed delight 
at such praise) “ ladies, one and all, and gentle¬ 
men: 

“We have decided here to-night on these 
things, namely, and to wit: 

“ That Santa Claus, being quite the kindest, 
most generous, most wonderful little boy in Pud¬ 
ding Lane 55 (you should have seen Mrs. Claus’s 
face at that) “ in fact, the kindest, most gener¬ 
ous, most wonderful little boy in the wide 
world 55 (look out, Mrs. Claus, you almost fell 
off your chair then), “that Santa Claus, there¬ 
fore, shall be surprised on Christmas morning as 
he always surprises other children; 

“ We have decided further, sir, that all the 
children shall make with their own hands gifts 
for Santa Claus and that Mother Goose shall 
buy gifts for us in Banbury Cross, as well; 

“ That then these gifts shall be stored here in 
Mrs. Claus’s cupboard, shall be locked with a 
strong key and stay locked until Christmas Eve 
when, you, Your Majesty, are to get these 
things, go up to the roof, slide down the chim- 
[ 198 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

ney, and fill little Santa’s stocking full as it will 
hold, yes, even fuller, for it is well known, com¬ 
rades, that a Christmas stocking isn’t much of a 
stocking if it doesn’t overflow with gifts.” 

“ Hurrah! ” shouted Old King Cole, as Jack 
Spratt, with one final flourish of a bow, took his 
seat again, flushed with success. 

“ Hurrah! ” they all cried, “ Hurrah! Hur¬ 
rah! Hurrah! Long live Jack Spratt! ” 

But they had cried hurrah one time too many. 
For upon that last resounding cry, Santa Claus, 
in his little bed upstairs, had awakened. He did 
not know what this noise was, having no idea 
that Mr. and Mrs. Claus were entertaining com¬ 
pany that night. And so, since he did not know 
what the sound was, he thought he would get up 
and find out. Which he did. He fumbled 
around in the dark for his slippers, groped for 
his dressing gown, and upon finding these, 
hurried into them and ran down the back 
stairs. 

The noise had subsided now, however, and as 
Santa Claus tiptoed in toward the front parlor, 
he heard only the low murmur of voices. This 
surely was a strange thing, thought Santa Claus 
to himself — people to be talking in the Clauses’ 
front parlor in the middle of the night. He crept 
[ 199 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

to the parlor door and listened. It sounded as 
if all Pudding Lane were there, he thought. 
Buzz, buzz, hum, hum, whisper, whisper! He 
could hear the deep voice of Old King Cole, rum¬ 
bling. He could hear Mrs. Dumpty’s high lit¬ 
tle chirp. He could hear the cackle of the old 
candlestick-maker. Buzz, buzz, hum, hum, 
whisper, whisper! 

And what do you think they were talking 
about? Were they still discussing the Christ¬ 
mas surprise? And would Santa Claus hear it 
all now? Oh, what a disaster that would be. 
Let us put our ears close to the door, as Santa 
was already doing. Hark! The Old Woman 
Who Lived in a Shoe is talking. 

“ Well,” she was saying, “ I wish I were a 
child. Ld love to hang my stocking up Christ¬ 
mas Eve, I would.” Whew, that was a narrow 
squeak, all right. They might still have been 
talking about the surprise. 

“ You know,” said Mrs. Spratt, “ Lve often 
wished that myself. That’s the worst thing 
about growing up, that you don’t hang up your 
stocking on Christmas.” 

“ But we could,” exclaimed Mrs. Peter, Peter 
Pumpkin-Eater, “ we could hang up our stock¬ 
ings on Christmas Eve if we wanted to.” 

[ 200 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

“Who’d fill ’em?” asked the candlestick- 
maker bluntly. 

“ Yes, who’d fill ’em? ” demanded every one 
else. “ There isn’t much use of hanging up your 
stocking, Mrs. Peter, if nobody fills it.” 

Mrs. Peter, Peter looked a bit crestfallen. 
“ No, I suppose there isn’t,” she answered. 
“ Still, I think we might hang them up and just 
see whether they got filled or not.” 

“ Now, Mrs. Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater,” 
said Mr. Horner, “ you surely don’t think that 
that little boy, Santa Claus, would fill our stock¬ 
ings if we hung them up, do you? Why, Santa’s 
got his hands full already, attending to the chil¬ 
dren’s stockings.” 

“ No, I’m not so foolish as to think that, Mr. 
Horner,” said Mrs. Peter, Peter, “ but some one 
else might.” 

“ Who might? ” they all asked her. “ Who¬ 
ever would fill our stockings, Mrs. Peter? ” 

“ Mother Goose might or a fairy might,” burst 
out the little lady triumphantly. 

And the grown-ups had to admit to them¬ 
selves that in truth Mother Goose or a fairy 
might fill their stockings on Christmas Eve. 
Mother Goose had been known to do stranger 
things than that in her day, and as for the fair- 
[ 201 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


ies, well, nobody can ever tell what they’re 
going to do. 

Supposing, then, that they all should hang up 
their stockings on Christmas Eve! Supposing 
somebody did fill them with the gifts of their 
hearts’ desire! Mrs. Dumpty’s heart fluttered 
wildly at the thought; the Old Woman had a 
new strange light in her eyes; and the candle¬ 
stick-maker fidgeted excitedly in his chair. Fool¬ 
ish grown-ups, to sit there dreaming of impos¬ 
sible things. Or perhaps they were wise. Any¬ 
way, they were certainly happy, as they all for¬ 
got everything for a moment and pretended that 
it was Christmas Eve and that they were young 
again. 

Old King Cole finally broke the silence. 

“ Old Woman,” he said gently, “ what would 
you rather have than anything else in the 
world? What would you want in your Christ¬ 
mas stocking if you did hang it up, Old 
Woman? ” 

The Old Woman began to murmur as if to 
herself, “ Once upon a time when I was a girl, 
there was a ball given in Banbury Cross, and I 
was invited. The Prince was to be there, Prince 
Charming himself, you know, and I had a red 
dress for it, and a pair of gold slippers. Then I 
[ 202 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

got the measles and I couldn’t go. I’ve never 
been the same since.” 

“ Why, Old Woman,” said the King, “ you 
mean to say you want a ball in your Christmas 
stocking? ” 

“That’s the only thing I do want,” replied 
the Old Woman. “ Only it would have to be 
the same ball, you know. No other ball would 
do at all.” 

“ Of course not,” King Cole said gravely, “ no 
other ball would ever do. I don’t care much for 
balls, Old Woman, but I can understand that 
perfectly.” He sighed heavily. It was sad to 
hear the Old Woman mourning for that lost joy 
of her youth, and sadder still, he thought to him¬ 
self, that things like balls could never, never, 
never be put into old women’s Christmas stock¬ 
ings. He turned then to Mrs. Dumpty. 

“ And do you want a ball too, Mrs. 
Dumpty? ” 

Mrs. Dumpty looked up at His Majesty tim¬ 
idly. 

“ No, sir,” she replied, and then she hesi¬ 
tated. 

“ Well — ? ” said Old King Cole encourag¬ 
ingly. 

“ I’m afraid, sir, that you’ll think I’m rather a 
[ 203 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


foolish woman to want what I want,” she told 
him. 

“ People aren’t foolish to want things, no 
matter what they want,” King Cole pronounced 
sagely. “ What do you want in the whole world, 
Mrs. Dumpty? ” 

“ Well, sir,” began Mrs. Dumpty, “ I want — 
I want — well, I want a lace petticoat, King 
Cole, a lace petticoat with a thousand ruffles! ” 

“A thousand ruffles!” repeated King Cole, 
astonished. “ Why, Mrs. Dumpty, I don’t be¬ 
lieve there ever was a petticoat with a thousand 
lace ruffles on it! ” 

“ Maybe there wasn’t, and maybe there isn’t,” 
answered Mrs. Dumpty doggedly, “ but that’s 
what I want, King Cole. I never had enough 
ruffles in my whole life, sir. And somehow, 
there’s nothing quite like ruffles to make a woman 
happy.” 

The women all murmured sympathetically at 
this, as King Cole nodded next to Old Mother 
Hubbard. 

“ Ruffles for you too, Mother Hubbard? ” he 
asked. Women were queer, he was thinking to 
himself. What on earth did they want of ruf¬ 
fles? 

“ Ruffles are all very well,” responded Mother 
[ 204 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

Hubbard, “ but I know something better even 
than ruffles, sir / 5 

“ And that is — 55 King Cole smiled reassur¬ 
ingly at her. 

“ And that is a — 55 Old Mother threw a reck¬ 
less glance around the room, “ that is a — hurdy- 
gurdy! 55 

A hurdy-gurdy! No wonder they all gasped. 
Who but Mother Hubbard would ever have 
thought of a hurdy-gurdy? 

“Yes , 55 she repeated defiantly, “a hurdy- 
gurdy! You all may think it’s funny to live 
alone with a dog, with a bare cupboard yawning 
in your face, but I tell you it’s not a bit funny. 
No, not funny at all . 55 Poor Mother Hubbard’s 
voice choked a bit, but she swallowed hard and 
went on, “ And if I had a hurdy-gurdy — oh, 
I 5 ve always longed for music, King Cole, but 
now more than ever. If I had a hurdy-gurdy — 55 

“ If you had a hurdy-gurdy , 55 supplied Old 
King Cole eagerly, “ you could play it — 55 

“ And you could sing — 55 the Old Woman put 

in. 

“ And you could dance , 55 cried Mrs. Flinders. 

“ And the dog could dance too , 55 finished up 
Mrs. Claus. 

“ And see how jolly we’d all be ,’ 5 said Mother 
[ 205 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


Hubbard. “ Now a hurdy-gurdy would be a 
good thing for me, wouldn’t it? ” 

So there they sat, those grown-ups, talking 
about what they wanted in their Christmas stock¬ 
ings just as Jack and Jill, just as Mistress Mary, 
just as Polly Flinders, and Simple Simon, and 
Little Boy Blue talked about what they wanted 
in their Christmas stockings every single year. 

And these grown-ups did want the strangest 
things. The candlestick-maker, who was the 
dirtiest and shabbiest old man in Pudding Lane, 
confessed that he wanted a swallow-tail coat, 
“ with pearl buttons on it,” he added, “ and a 
silk hankersniff in the top pocket.” The can¬ 
dlestick-maker always said “ hankersniff ” for 
“ handkerchief ” and if you corrected him, he 
would declare emphatically that of course it was 
sniff — what else was a hanker for? — which 
seemed to settle the matter. 

Mr. Flinders, that citified gentleman who had 
come to Pudding Lane from London, stated that 
he desired pigs. For in pigs, said he, he thought 
a man might find a deal of comfort and a relief 
from the complexities of this world. The 
butcher was frank to say that he wanted noth¬ 
ing in this world but a wife. And Old Cross- 
Patch, who hadn’t said a word all the evening, 
[ 206 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

startled the company by grunting suddenly that 
she would like to have a baby. 

What amazing things! A ball, a thousand 
ruffles, a hurdy-gurdy, a swallow-tailed coat, 
pigs, a wife, a baby! As Santa Claus stood there 
listening behind the door, he thought to himself 
that no little boy in the world had ever faced 
such a problem as this was. For, of course, if they 
wanted these things, it was Santa Claus’s duty 
to provide them, he thought. That was the kind 
of boy he was, you know. If anybody in the 
world wanted anything, he considered it his busi¬ 
ness to see that it was forthcoming. 

Moreover, these grown-ups, Mrs. Pumpkin- 
Eater, Mrs. Dumpty, the Old Woman, the can¬ 
dlestick-maker, Mr. Flinders, the butcher, Cross- 
Patch and all the others, had reached such a pitch 
now that they were actually going to hang up 
their stockings on Christmas Eve. They were 
going to do this just for fun, as they said, and 
yet Santa Claus could tell by the wistful tone 
of their voices, by the yearning hope in their 
voices, that they did halfway expect that some¬ 
body or other would, after all, make their Christ¬ 
mas wishes come true. 

No wonder he didn’t sleep a wink that night, 
or at least many winks. For this was the great- 
[ 207 ] ^ 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

est dilemma any boy ever was in. Here were 
people wanting things. Here were people about 
to hang up their Christmas stockings. And here 
was he, Santa Claus, without one thing to put 
in those stockings. 

How could he get a swallow-tail coat with 
pearl buttons and a silk hankersniff in the top 
pocket? How could he manage a ball for the 
Old Woman? And how on earth could any¬ 
body, even Mother Goose or a fairy, produce a 
wife for the butcher? Or a baby for Cross- 
Patch? Santa Claus’s heart was very heavy as 
he thought of these things and he almost wished, 
although not quite, of course, that he had never 
gone into the Christmas business. 

But little did Pudding Lane guess what was 
going on in Santa Claus’s mind these days. They 
were all too busy attending to his surprise. 

The children made presents for Santa Claus. 
Judy was knitting, with many grunts and sighs, 
a pair of red mittens, and although the poor lit¬ 
tle girl had made a mistake and knitted both mit¬ 
tens for the left hand, still they were extremely 
handsome mittens, red as a holly berry and 
warm as fur. Humpty-Dumpty carved a whis¬ 
tle for Santa, one that blew so shrill and loud 
that it sounded like the wind itself whistling 
[ 208 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

around the corner. Jack and Jill had planted 
an orange seed in a geranium pot and now, bless 
you, there was growing up in that pot a lovely 
little orange tree, such as nobody in Pudding 
Lane had ever seen before. In fact, when they 
told Mrs. Claus about it, she didn’t believe 
it. 

“ Has it got oranges on it? ” she wanted to 
know. 

“ No,” admitted Jill. 

“ Has it got orange blossoms on it? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” Jill was constrained to admit. 
“ No blossoms, Mrs. Claus.” 

“ Well, then,” said that lady, “ how do you 
know it’s an orange tree?” 

“ Because it grew from an orange seed,” ex¬ 
plained Jill; “ nothing would grow from an or¬ 
ange seed but an orange tree, would it, Mrs. 
Claus?” 

“ That I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Claus, 
“ but it looks to me as though an orange tree 
ought to have oranges on it.” 

It was about this time that Mother Goose sent 
a big box of gifts from Banbury Cross for Santa 
Claus’s stocking. It was about this time, too, 
that Jack-of-All-Trades made a fine new key for 
Mrs. Claus’s cupboard, so that when the gifts 
[ 209 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

were stored there they might be safely locked up 
against Santa Claus’s discovery. 

But still Santa Claus himself was deeply 
troubled. He hammered and pounded as usual 
in the old woodshed, making the children’s gifts, 
but still he wondered and pondered about the 
grown-ups’ Christmas, and still he could see no 
way out of this overwhelming difficulty. The 
days flew by, Christmas was coming closer and 
closer, and he had done nothing toward getting 
the ruffled petticoat, the swallow-tail coat, the 
wife and the baby and all the other things. 

And then, unannounced, Piggy-Peddler 
dropped in one day and something happened. 

Of all the children in Pudding Lane, Santa 
Claus was Piggy-Peddler’s favorite, and so it 
was quite natural that Piggy-Peddler should no¬ 
tice how Santa’s little fat chops drooped and 
how melancholy were his blue eyes. He did no¬ 
tice these things, and he wasted no time in mak¬ 
ing inquiries, but took Santa Claus off into a 
corner and said, “ Look here, old man, some¬ 
thing’s up. Why don’t you tell Piggy-Peddler 
about it? ” 

Santa Claus, oh, so relieved now to have some¬ 
body to confide in, told Piggy-Peddler the whole 
story. He told Piggy-Peddler how he had heard 
[ 210 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


the grown-ups talking that night about the 
things they wanted, how those grown-ups had 
planned to hang up their stockings just to see if 
something wouldn’t happen, and how he, Santa 
Claus, longed to find those things for the grown¬ 
ups and put them in their stockings, but couldn’t 
possibly do it. 

Piggy-Peddler listened intently, and when 
Santa Claus had finished, he spoke softly. 

“ So that’s it,” he said. “ Those dear, funny, 
grown-up people. They want the things they’ve 
never had. Of course they do.” 

“ And they’ve been wanting them ever since 
they were young,” added Santa Claus. 

“ Mrs. Dumpty and her ruffles,” said Piggy- 
Peddler. 

“ And Cross-Patch,” said Santa. 

“And the candlestick-maker!” continued 
Piggy-Peddler. “ Can’t you just see him, Santa 
Claus, switching those tails around, with a dirty 
shirt above them, and his rusty boots below?” 

“ Still, I think he’d look nice,” Santa Claus 
said. 

“ Nice! He’d look elegant! ” 

Santa Claus laughed aloud. It would be such 
fun, he was thinking, to see the candlestick- 
maker flourishing happily around in his tails. 

[ 211 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ I wonder 55 — Piggy-Peddler was musing 
— “ I wonder if he would do it, just this once, 
for these people of Pudding Lane. 5 ' 

“Who?” 

Piggy-Peddler was lost in thought. 

“Who, Piggy-Peddler?” persisted Santa 
Claus. “ You wonder if who would do what? ” 

“ Oh! ” Piggy-Peddler started and laughed. 
“ Why, I was wondering, Santa Claus, if Father 
Time wouldn’t, just this one time, let these 
people have an hour of their youth again. If he 
would, you know, they could have all their de¬ 
sires. Their wishes would all come true.” 

At this Santa Claus could only stare. 

“ I don’t understand,” he said. 

“ Well, it’s just this, Santa Claus,” explained 
Piggy-Peddler. “ Father Time, if he wanted 
to, could turn the clock back on Christmas Eve. 
He could let these people fly back to the time 
when they were young, and he could give them 
whatever they wanted.” 

“ He could? ” Santa’s mouth was wide open 
at such news. 

“ He could,” replied Piggy-Peddler. 

“ Would they be children again? ” 

“ No, you never can be a child again, quite, 
you know, after you’ve once grown up,” Piggy 
[ 212 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

said. “ But you can feel very young, oh, very 
young, even as young as sixteen / 5 

Santa Claus, thinking to himself that sixteen 
was not what he’d call young, spoke again. 

“ He could make their wishes come true, you 
say? ” 

“ For an hour.” 

“ Only for an hour? ” 

“ Oh, that’ll be long enough. It isn’t keeping 
things that’s fun, you know. Why, they 
wouldn’t want these things forever, Santa Claus. 
The Old Woman can’t jig around at a ball the 
rest of her life, can she? And that petticoat! 
Mrs. Dumpty would worry her life out washing 
the thing! You know what a fussy little lady 
she is.” 

“ But the baby for Cross-Patch? ” pursued 
Santa Claus. He was thinking how badly he’d 
feel if his baby sister should have stayed with 
them only an hour. 

“ Well, that is a little different,” admitted 
Piggy. “ But think of the poor baby living with 
old Cross-Patch. I’ll tell you, Santa, we’ll get 
her a parrot afterwards. They’re lots better for 
old cross-patches than babies. Also, the butcher 
doesn’t really want a wife, you know. He only 
thinks he does.” 


[ 213 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ But they said they wanted these things 
more than anything else in the world, 5 ’ said 
Santa Claus persistently. 

" They do ! 55 cried Piggy. "The things 
you’ve always wanted are the very things you 
want most. But that doesn’t mean you have to 
keep them forever. And think how happy they’d 
all be on Christmas. Why, this will make them 
happy the rest of their lives, and they’ll never 
get through talking about it.” 

"And Father Time could do this?” asked 
Santa again. 

“ He could,” replied Piggy-Peddler. " He’s 
very powerful, you know. The only question is, 
would he? That’s what I am wondering.” 

" Do you know him, Piggy-Peddler? ” 

" Very well,” answered Piggy. 

" Could you ask him? ” 

" I could and I will,” came Piggy-Peddler’s 
reply. " He ought to do it for you, Santa Claus. 
Father Time thinks very highly of you, you 
know.” 

“ He doesn’t know me,” said Santa. 

" Oh, yes, he does. He knows everybody. 
He may be old and his beard may be long and 
white, but he knows everybody in the world, 
Santa Claus, and don’t you forget that.” 

[ 214 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

And you will go to him, Piggy-Peddler,” 
begged Santa Claus, “ and ask him to turn the 
clock back? ” 

c I will,” replied Piggy-Peddler, “ this very 
minute I’ll go, Santa Claus.” 

And he did. He left Pudding Lane that very 
minute, and as Santa Claus went back to his 
work, his heart beat a little rat-a-tat-tat of joy, 
as he reflected that maybe, after all, The Old 
Woman could have her ball, Mrs. Dumpty her 
ruffles, and Cross-Patch her baby on Christmas 
morning. 

2 

Christmas Eve had come. Deeper than ever 
was the snow. The houses looked as if their 
mothers had put white hoods on them; the ground 
was spread as with white fur; and the trees held 
their burden of snow as lightly as if it were lace. 

But nobody had time for scenery in Pudding 
Lane that night. In every house, lights were 
burning; in every house, the mothers were flying 
madly about, the fathers were jumping from 
room to room, and the children were hopping, 
shrieking, dancing, as children always do on this 
best night of the year. 

[ 215 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

At last, however, the stockings were all up at 
the fireplaces. At last the children were all in 
bed and sound asleep. At last it was time for 
Santa Claus, that fat little boy in a bright red 
suit, to take his pack, go to the roofs, slide down 
the chimneys and fill the stockings as he did every 
year. 

But what about the surprise for Santa him¬ 
self? Wait a bit. It wasn’t time for that yet. 
And what about the gifts for the grown-ups? 
Were they to get the things they wanted? Was 
Father Time really going to turn the clock back, 
as Piggy-Peddler and Santa Claus had so ar¬ 
dently hoped he would? 

Well, whether Father Time was going to make 
the wishes come true or not, the grown-ups were 
certainly hanging up their stockings. For there 
was the old candlestick-maker in his shop, paw¬ 
ing through a drawerful of socks. First he 
pulled out a white sock, but that one, alas, had 
a hole in it. Then he found a brown one, but 
oh, my goodness, that one had two holes in it. 
Then he found a gray sock, a woolen one that 
Mrs. Claus, good soul, had knitted for him. But 
that one had shrunken in the wash, and nobody 
wants a shriveled-up sock to hang up for Christ¬ 
mas. At last he came upon a fine black affair 
[ 216 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

that looked as if it had been made for a giant, 
so enormous it was. This was the very thing, 
and cackling and wheezing, the candlestick- 
maker hung it up beside Jack-Be-Nimble’s 
smaller stocking and went to bed. 

The butcher hung up his stocking, and lonely 
it looked too, that stocking, as it dangled from 
his bachelor’s fireplace. The Flinderses hung 
up their stockings, one on each side of Polly’s; 
Mrs. Dumpty hung up hers,— oh, all the grown¬ 
ups hung up stockings that night. And although 
they tried to pretend to themselves that it was 
all in fun, still they all knew perfectly well 
that it wouldn’t be a bit funny if they should get 
up the next morning to find these stockings 
empty and their wishes still just wishes. 

Only Mr. and Mrs. Claus did not join in this 
great stocking ceremony. Something had hap¬ 
pened at the Clauses’, which had turned that 
humble home almost inside out and left no time 
for such minor considerations as stockings. 

Mrs. Claus discovered it just after Santa had 
left with his pack. 

“ Now,” said she to Mr. Claus, “ I’ll get out 
the things for his stocking.” 

“ But he’ll see ’em when he comes in,” ob¬ 
jected the baker. 


[ 217 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

“ Now, Mr. Claus, you ought to know by this 
time he always comes in by the back door and 
goes up the back steps on Christmas Eve. 
What’s the harm, then, of getting out the things 
now and putting them in his stocking in the 
front room? ” 

“ No harm, no harm at all,” agreed Mr. Claus 
hastily. 

So Mrs. Claus went to her workbasket to get 
the key to the cupboard in which Santa’s sur¬ 
prises were hidden. The key, oddly enough, 
was not there. 

“ Well, that’s funny,” Mrs. Claus said. 
Whereupon she went to the kitchen shelf, but 
the key wasn’t there, either. Nor was it behind 
the clock on the mantel, or in the best alabaster 
vase in the parlor, or in the old valise upstairs. 
And if it wasn’t in these treasure troves, where 
was it? That is what Mrs. Claus wanted to 
know. 

“ Where did you put it?” asked the baker 
innocently. 

“How do I know?” retorted Mrs. Claus. 
“ I seemed to remember putting it in all these 
places, but I didn’t.” 

“ Look in the almanac,” suggested her hus¬ 
band. 


[ 218 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ The almanac!” repeated Mrs. Claus con¬ 
temptuously, but she looked there just the same. 

She also looked in the woodbox and in the 
apple barrel and in the cooky jar, where no key 
ought ever to be and where no key was, either. 
She ripped open the beds and searched under the 
mattresses, and the fact that her children were 
in those beds made no whit of difference to Mrs. 
Claus. She tore up the carpet from under Mr. 
Claus’s feet; she scratched in the corners of the 
room like a cat digging for a mouse; she peered 
sharply down into the stove, and when the key 
was not discovered there, shook down the coals 
angrily. And at last, after tearing up the entire 
house by its roots, she sat down on a chair and 
looked at Mr. Claus with a tragic face. 

“ It’s lost,” she announced hoarsely. 

“ Never mind,” Mr. Claus replied soothingly, 
“ we’ll get another.” 

“ But it’s a special key,” she wailed, “ made 
specially for this Christmas Eve. And Jack-of- 
All-Trades is dead asleep by now, and if he 
wasn’t, he’d never have time now to make an¬ 
other.” 

“ Well, then, we’ll have to break the door 
open,” said Mr. Claus. 

“ But we have no ax!” 

[ 219 ] 


Poor Mrs. Claus, 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

she had lost all her old enterprise in that short 
time. 

“ WeTl borrow one,” replied Mr. Claus, and 
with that they both leaped out of the kitchen to 
borrow an ax from the neighbors. 

It was exactly midnight when Santa Claus 
had finished filling the stockings of Simple 
Simon, Jack and Jill, little Bo-Peep and all the 
other children of Pudding Lane. He had just 
clicked Mistress Mary’s gate behind him, when 
up popped Piggy-Peddler in front of him. 

“ It’s all right,” whispered Piggy-Peddler de¬ 
lightedly. “ It’s going on right now.” 

“Oh!” cried Santa Claus. “It is? He’s 
really turning the clock back? ” 

“ This very minute,” reported Piggy-Peddler. 

“ But it’s too early, Piggy-Peddler,” said 
Santa Claus. “ The grown-ups will never be 
awake at this hour. They’ve just gone to bed.” 

Piggy-Peddler laughed. 

“ Don’t you worry about those grown-ups. 
They’re worse than children ever thought of be¬ 
ing. Mark my word, they’re sneaking down the 
steps right this minute. Father Time knows 
them; that’s why he set this hour.” 

“ Are they really going to get the very things 
they asked for?” asked Santa Claus. 

[ 220 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

“ The very things , 55 Piggy told him. 

“ The petticoat *? 55 

“ Oh, such a petticoat! A riot of ruffles! 55 
Piggy-Peddler answered. 

“ A thousand of them *? 55 
** A thousand, and one for good measure. A 
thousand and one ruffles, Santa Claus.” 

** And the baby *? 55 

“ The most wonderful baby , 55 replied Piggy. 
** He never cries and never wakes up in the 
middle of the night and never swallows safety 
pins.” 

** Then he isn’t a real baby,” declared Santa 
Claus. He knew about babies. There had been 
five of them in his family. 

“Yes, he’s a real baby,” Piggy-Peddler in¬ 
sisted. “ For he does fall out of bed, and he 
does eat old shoes, and he does chase sunbeams 
all over the nursery floor.” 

Santa Claus, however, was not quite con¬ 
vinced. 

“ Does he go into a rage if he can’t get the sun¬ 
beam?” 

“ The most awful rage, bellowing and roar- 

• 99 

ing. 

“ No tears though,” supplemented Santa 
Claus. 


[ 221 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ No tears, 5 ’ corroborated Piggy. “ Too mad 
for tears . 55 

“ Well, I guess he’s a real baby then , 55 Santa 
Claus admitted. “ But, oh, Piggy, don’t you 
wish we could peep in at the windows and see 
the grown-ups getting their Christmas pres¬ 
ents ? 55 

“ I never wished anything so much in the 
world,” was Piggy’s heartfelt reply. 

“ But it isn’t nice to peep in at windows, is 
it?” 

“ Peeping is dreadful,” said Piggy-Peddler. 

“ So I suppose we’d better go home , 55 sug¬ 
gested Santa. 

“ I think that’s all we can do,” Piggy agreed. 

So Santa Claus went home, and Piggy went to 
the Horners’, where he was staying over Christ¬ 
mas. 

Piggy did not go straight to bed, however, for 
not only did he find Mr. and Mrs. Horner up 
and gloating over the lovely gifts in their Christ¬ 
mas stockings, but he found Jack Horner up 
too — think of it, on Christmas Eve — and 
moreover, making a great to-do about his Christ¬ 
mas pie. 

“ He wants to eat it now,” Mrs. Horner told 

Piggy- 


[ 222 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

“Well, let him eat it then/’ advised Piggy- 
Peddler, disgusted. 

You couldn’t do anything with a boy like 
Jack, he was thinking, and there was no use try¬ 
ing. 

The rest of the grown-ups, however, had no 
such difficulties to spoil their Christmas stock¬ 
ings, and right that minute they were all tiptoe¬ 
ing down to their front parlors just as Piggy- 
Peddler said they would be doing. 

Mrs. Dumpty, in her pink flannel nightgown 
and with her eyes bulging over her sputtering 
candle, was the first one down. She craned her 
neck as she got near the stocking, and her eyes, 
pushing themselves almost out of their sockets, 
searched the dimness intently. Would the petti¬ 
coat be there? Oh, beating heart, be still! 
Supposing it were not — 

Ah, but there it was, the petticoat of her heart, 
lovelier even than she had imagined. Such 
foamy ruffles! So many of them! Oh, what a 
petticoat! Suddenly Mrs. Dumpty threw it 
around her and rushed out. Where was the 
woman going? 

At about the same time old Cross-Patch came 
shuffling in to her stocking. She hadn’t slept 
much in her excitement, but had lain there tense 
[ 223 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


and still until at last she could stand it no longer. 
There she came, shuffle, shuffle. She held the 
candle high and squinted at the stocking. Was 
that — could it be — a baby’s fuzzy head pok¬ 
ing up out of the top? It was! Oh, happy old 
Cross-Patch. She pinched the baby to see if it 
were real; she grunted and chuckled and cackled. 
She wasn’t a bit cross now. Then, taking the 
baby under one arm, she too rushed out and 
away. 

And did the candlestick-maker get his swal¬ 
low-tail coat? He did. Pearl buttons, han- 
kersniff and all? Pearl buttons, hankersniff 
and all. Did Mr. Flinders find himself possessed 
of pigs? Most assuredly. Red little pigs, big 
black pigs, middle-aged speckled pigs, and all 
grunting and wallowing in a manner to delight 
any pig-lover’s heart. 

But surely the butcher didn’t find a wife in 
his stocking? Well, he just did. A charming 
lady with a pink cheek, a high heel, and a minc¬ 
ing step, a woman exactly to the butcher’s taste. 
Old Mother Hubbard got her hurdy-gurdy too, 
and you should have seen her and the dog danc¬ 
ing to its music. 

But the strange thing was that all of them 
took their gifts in their arms and rushed out from 
[ 224 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

their homes, just as Mrs. Dumpty and Cross- 
Patch had done. They all went to the same place 
too, and that place was — guess where — the 
Old Woman’s Shoe. 

Words fail me as I try to describe the scene 
they all found in the once humble old Shoe. 
There was the Shoe ablaze with light and color; 
there were the ladies and gentlemen of the ball, 
in satins and velvet, bowing and pirouetting; 
there was Prince Charming himself, the most 
agreeable man you ever want to see; and finally 
there was the Old Woman, gay as a feather, al¬ 
most unrecognizable now in her fine red dress 
and her gold, gold slippers. 

With great hilarity the Old Woman greeted 
her friends, and if she kissed Mr. Horner and 
shook hands with Mrs. Horner instead of the 
other way around, as she intended, nobody 
minded, especially Mr. Horner. Indeed, so 
enlivened became the gentlemen that they all 
said they wanted such a handshake,— which 
was certainly a gay turn for the party to 
take. 

So they frolicked on and danced and were 
merry. Oh, yes, they admired each other’s 
Christmas presents too. The butcher s wife was 
received with great cordiality, Cross-Patch’s 
[ 225 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

baby was declared to be the nicest baby every¬ 
body had ever seen; and Mother Hubbard’s 
hurdy-gurdy rolled out its lovely tunes as Mrs. 
Dumpty, in her ruffled petticoat and the candle¬ 
stick-maker, in his tails, stepped gravely through 
a minuet. 

Only the Clauses were not there. 

But we know where they were, don’t we? Or 
do we? 

For if Mr. Claus at that moment didn’t come 
tumbling head-first into the Shoe, and if Mrs. 
Claus didn’t come falling in after him, and then, 
right on their heels, if Jack Horner didn’t burst 
in on everybody. 

“We want an ax!” shouted Mr. Claus. 
“ Been all over the whole town and not a soul 
was home.” 

“ An ax! ” they all shouted back at him. 

“But look here!” called out Little Jack 
Horner. 

He was holding up a tiny something in his 
hand. 

“ What’s that?” they asked. 

“ I stuck in my thumb,” began Jack Horner. 

“ Oh, it’s only that old plum he’s always talk¬ 
ing about,” said Mrs. Grundy. 

“ No, ma’am,” Jack cried excitedly, “ it’s not 

[ 226 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

a plum. It’s a key. I stuck in my thumb and 
pulled out a — key! ” 

Everybody gasped, Mrs. Claus gave a jump, 
and as for Mr. Claus, “ Great snakes!” he 
roared. “ It’s it! ” 

And before anybody could say another word, 
he had snatched the key from Jack Horner’s 
hands and was gone, leaving Mrs. Claus to ex¬ 
plain the whole thing, a feat she accomplished 
with much hemming and hawing. 

For Mrs. Claus, you see, in her excitement had 
baked the key to the cupboard in Jack Horner’s 
Christmas pie. Nobody knows how in the world 
she could have done such a thing, and indeed, 
to this day she swears she couldn t have done it, 
but she did do it, just the same, and everybody 
knows it. 

The people of Pudding Lane were very kind 
to her about this mistake. 

“ Never mind, Mrs. Claus,” said the Old 
Woman comfortingly, “ it’s all right now. Mr. 
Claus has gone home to get the things out of the 
cupboard and Santa Claus will have his Christ¬ 
mas stocking just the same, even if you did think 
the key was a plum.” 

“ I didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Claus. “ Whoever 
could think a key was a plum? ” 

[ 227 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


“ Well,” cackled the candlestick-maker, “ you 
put the key into the plum pie, Mrs. Claus.” 

Mrs. Claus wrung her hands and could make 
no answer. 

“ Shame on you, candlestick-maker,” said 
Cross-Patch reprovingly. “ Your tails have 
made you cruel, sir. Cheer up, Mrs. Claus,” 
she went on, “ it’s just as the Old Woman said. 
Santa Claus will have his Christmas stocking, 
after all, and there’s nothing to worry about 
now.” 

“ Well, then,” spoke the Old Woman, “ we 
ought to go on with our party, oughtn’t we? ” 

“ We ought to, I suppose,” said Mrs. Dumpty, 
smoothing her ruffles, “ but — 

“ But what, Mrs. Dumpty? ” asked Mr. Flin¬ 
ders from among his litter of pigs. 

“ But —” Mrs. Dumpty hesitated again, 
“ well, the truth is, neighbors, I’ve had about 
enough of party.” 

The candlestick-maker stopped switching his 
coat-tails to give vent to a great yawn. 

“ Wouldn’t mind going to bed myself,” he 
admitted. 

“The baby’s asleep,” said Cross-Patch. “I 
guess I’ll go home.” 

The Old Woman rubbed her eyes. 

[ 228 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

Balls are all right,” she said, “ but bed is the 
place for old women at this time of the night.” 

And that was the end of the lovely Christmas 
party. It was the end of the pigs and the ruffles 
and the swallow-tail coat; it was the end even 
of the butcher’s wife and Cross-Patch’s baby. 
They had had their wishes, those grown-ups of 
Pudding Lane, every one of them, and they had 
enjoyed that Christmas Eve as they had never 
enjoyed anything else before. But now they 
were just their old selves again and wanted to go 
to bed. Father Time had turned the clock up 
again, you see, and their hour of youth was past. 

But Santa Claus’s hour was not past, no in¬ 
deed. 

For the next morning, when he came clatter¬ 
ing down the stairs to see his brothers and sister 
open their Christmas stockings, what should he 
see but his own red stocking hanging there, with 
a great sign on it, saying, “ Merry Christmas, 
little Santa, from all your loving friends! ” 

And what should he find in that stocking but 
Judy’s mittens, and Jack and Jill’s orange tree 
(and it did have a tiny white blossom on it, after 
all) and the whistle that Humpty-Dumpty had 
carved for him? And what was there all around 
that stocking but piles and piles and piles of 
[ 229 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 

gifts, the nicest things that could be bought in 
Banbury Cross? 

Was he surprised? He nearly swooned, that 
fat little boy, so surprised was he. Did he like 
his gifts? You should have heard him chuckle 
and shout and exclaim. Was he touched at the 
thoughtfulness of his friends? He thanked 
them and thanked and thanked them, until they 
stopped their ears, and he told his mother that 
night that never in all the world were there any 
such people as those in Pudding Lane. He was 
curious, too, to know how they managed it all. 

“ Who brought the things down the chim¬ 
ney?” he wanted to know. 

“ King Cole,” Mrs. Claus told him. 

“ King Cole himself? ” 

“ King Cole himself,” said Mrs. Claus, but 
she did not add that the King had stuck in the 
chimney on the way down and had to be pulled 
through by his feet, although that really hap¬ 
pened. 

So that’s the way it all came out. 

Father Time turned back the clock so that 
the grown-ups could be young again and have 
the wishes of their youth. Jack Horner, the 
glutton, ate his Christmas pie too early, but, by 
doing so, saved the day. For if he hadn’t, they 
[ 230 ] 


SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 


wouldn’t have found the key, and Santa Claus 
might not have had his wonderful Christmas 
stocking. Oh, yes, they would have taken the 
ax to the cupboard, I suppose, but that’s no 
way to open a cupboard, after all. 


THE END 































































































































































